I WON, I WON, NEENER, NEENER, NEENERRR!
by All-Knowing Alien 2
Summary: Sauron FINALLY gets the Ring, but soon learns the downside when he has to deal with Sues, the 9 and three quarters Nazgul, Valar!Sues and...worser things. -EVIL laugh- Rated T for language and questionable themes. Don't own LoTR or the wonderful Koss.
1. 00 NEENER!

The air was burning around him as lava poured metres below the outcropping of stone. Sam watched in horrified fascination as Gollum seemingly wrestled with air, but he knew for a fact it was only Frodo, who had taken the Ring.

The Hobbit had no idea why, why _now_ of all times Frodo had succumbed to the will of the Ring. It had totally and completely consumed him, and this was the result. And, yet, he found he could do nothing but sit and gape, open mouthed.

His thoughts were brought to a halt by the heart rending scream that penetrated his ears and floated above the sound of the lava beneath. He saw Frodo now, cradling his hand while Gollum danced in joy behind him.

Quite obviously the vile creature had triumphed, with the Ring, his precious, as his reward. Frodo had tears streaming down his cheeks, as he sobbed over the loss of his finger, and the loss of the Ring, which had fleetingly been his.

Before Sam could rise to his feet, maybe to comfort Frodo, maybe to run Gollum though with Sting, Frodo stopped his tears and looked up, a maniacal light in his blue eyes, making him look almost possessed. And maybe he was.

The Baggins heir started toward Gollum purposefully, the said being ignoring the Hobbit as he danced and whooped with delight. He made a grab for the Ring, and the two struggled to gain the upper hand, to acquire control of the Ring, to be crowned victor and righteous possessor of that small yet powerful trinket. And they continued this duel, until they both toppled over the edge, straying too close.

"No!" Sam shouted, but it was too late. He hurried to the edge nonetheless, and heaved an enormous sigh of relief at seeing Frodo hanging there, looking for all the world like he was going to let go. Gollum, he saw, was falling, falling, falling…

And he hit the lava, the Ring balancing precariously on his outstretched hand. 'Soon it would be destroyed,' he thought. 'Soon that blasted Ring will be destroyed and Mr. Frodo will be normal again and Middle-Earth will be saved.' He reached out a hand to pull up said Mr. Frodo when the inexplicable happened.

The screech of the Ringwraith almost burst his eardrums in the confines of Mount Doom as it rode atop the Fell Beast. Using its powers, it somehow summoned the Ring to its hand.

Sam knew he would have fallen to his knees if he wasn't already kneeling.

The Fell Beast (By the Gaffer, how could this thing fly in a volcano?) manoeuvred its way so it was level with Sam. The Hobbit closed his eyes and hoped that the pain would be fleeting.

But all he felt was the claws of the Beast enclose him, and he opened his eyes in shock, only to see that he was airborne, with Mr. Frodo gripped in the other foot or hand, clawed nonetheless.

And with the air rushing around him and the blood going to his head from hanging upside down, he could hardly tell where they were going, but gut feeling told him it would not be pretty.

He was let go, suddenly, and he fell to a marble floor with a scream he could not contain. Sam was immediately bound tightly in strong and rough rope that cut into his skin, and a dirty gag was stuffed into his mouth when he opened it to cry out again. He was trussed up like a turkey, so to speak, like the many fowls he himself had tied and killed for Yule.

Frodo had not been treated as such, no, instead of ropes binding him, Frodo was held back by a single hand on his shoulder. It was a Ringwraith gripping him, and on his stabbed shoulder nonetheless. The Hobbit still had that maniacal glint in his eyes, but was clearly in pain.

The Witch King, after alighting from his Fell steed, held the Ring in a clenched fist (As much as a hand lacking muscle and sinew could be a fist). The head Ringwraith took a big windup that would be associated with baseball, had the game existed in that world, and let fly.

The Ring of Power hit the Great Eye, Sauron, square in the middle.

There was a loud "OW!" a pink poof of smoke, and a thud. As the final tendrils of smoke cleared, Sam gasped, or would have gasped if there wasn't a gag stuffed into his mouth. But I digress.

And, in a voice that echoed throughout the whole of Middle Earth, chilling blood of all creatures, Sauron, the self-proclaimed lord, said:

"I WON, I WON, NEENER, NEENER, NEE-NERRR!"


	2. 01 Frodo

Disclaimer: If I owned LoTR, Sauron would have won. Which, incidentally, I'm doing here! Anyway, all props go to the dead man six feet under.

Warning: Warning? Warning? Blatant disregard of the LoTR trilogy, I suppose.

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"Ah, dear hobbit," said Sauron jovially (as much as an unspeakably EVIL Dark Lord could be jovial, of course.) "Thank you for returning me to body." He dusted pink soot off himself and turned to his loyal Ringwraiths.

"All of you except No. 8 go and capture as many _heroes_ as you can from the Black Gate. Do not forget that sodding heir of Isildur! NOW!" And no one disobeyed The Voice™, much like no one could stand The Look of Doom (or The Look™ for short), so the eight Nazgûl (that's the nine minus Nazgûl No. 8) mounted their respective Fell Beasts (except the Witch King of Angmar, who rode No. 8's, as his Foul Steed had been…decapitated) and flew away to do their evil master's bidding.

Nazgûl No. 8, however, grumbled to herself. Yes, this was the one, and only, female Nazgûl of the Nine, proving that men (dead or otherwise) need someone levelheaded to make sure they didn't get out of line. Even if the Witch King _was_ the 'leader', he obeyed No. 8 because he knew what was good for him. Or, to be more accurate, he knew what she would do to him otherwise.

"What am I supposed to do _here_, My Lord?" she asked, irritated, for she knew she would be at the mercy of the other Nazgûl's teasing (i.e. being the only girl she was expected to stay with the Dark Lord while the 'big boys' caught the heroes.)

"Get that hobbit an outfit," Sauron said shortly. Then added hurriedly, "Before No. 6 gets back."

No. 8 nodded understandingly, barely suppressing a shudder. That week when No. 6 had tried to get Sauron to try various EVIL Dark Lord outfits (while he was still in Fiery Eye mode) had been…draining. She beckoned to Frodo with one finger, and he followed, as if in a trance.

Only after the two had left the chamber did Sauron turn to the still bound-and-gagged Samwise Gamgee.

One wave of an EVIL hand had him un-gagged and spluttering for breath.

"What are you doing to Mr. Frodo!"

Sauron merely glanced at him before continuing to stare at the pandemonium at the Gates. The view in Sauron's chambers was spectacular, and Mount Doom gave an ominous rumble in the distance.

"'Mr. Frodo' shall become an honorary Nazgûl, although he is neither a human, nor a king. Still, I've always wondered about you Halflings, and you've almost been my undoing, had not 'Mr. Frodo' suddenly surrender to the will of My Ring." At this he admired the band of GOLD on his finger. How nice it was for all his fingers to be nice and intact. Sodding Isildur, with his sodding father's sword. Should have stomped his brains out.

Sauron was brought out of this train of thought when Sam exclaimed, "Honorary Nazgûl! By the Gaffer, Frodo will never be a Nazgûl! You won't turn him into one! I won't let you!"

Tired of the useless prattle, another wave of his hand (his intact and EVIL hand, you mustn't forget) had the gag back in Sam's mouth. "I can and I will make Frodo Baggins of the Shire a Nazgûl, and _you_ will not stop me. You did not stop me from getting the Ring, and you will not stop me from making Frodo Nazgûl No…9 ¾."

He snapped his fingers (intact!) a Man stepped out of the shadows and took hold of the vainly struggling Hobbit.

"Take him to the kitchens. I daresay we need someone who can whip up… 'taters'." Sauron smirked and waved the Man away, said Man bowing respectfully and dragging out a struggling Hobbit.

The EVIL Dark Lord turned back to the lovely view. The White City, Minas Tirith, caught his eye and he grinned. EVIL-ly.

If this didn't rub it into that sodding heir-of-Isildur's face, nothing would.

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The screeching of the Nazgûl announced their arrival to Sauron. He waited patiently (as patiently as a busy and EVIL Dark Lord could be) as each of them deposited their spoils.

Sauron examined them all impassively. Sodding Heir-of-Isildur, who was disturbingly being soothed in the arms of Prince Legolas of Mirkwood. Sauron had to stifle a laugh. Leggy, as he was called by…Them.

Then there were two more Hobbits. By the Valar, they were tiny. One looked like a puppy that had been kicked and left out in the rain, while the other had way too much curly hair. Hmm. He could use the puppy looking one, as a politician…

Another man, presumably from Rohan, judging by his armour, as well as the reek of horses around his person. And then a dwarf, red haired and smelling of stone. Don't ask. Next was Gandalf the WHITE. Huh. Gandalf the bleached, more like.

And next was…

"What the Hell is that?"

The Witch King shifted guiltily. "It's a horse. Brego."

"And _why_ would I need a horse named Brego?" Sauron asked, his voice dripping with forced patience and sarcasm.

"I…um…didn't want to come back empty handed…if I _did_ have proper hands, of course."

Sauron sighed tiredly. Help these days. "Send him to the kitchens. Maybe our new cook can cook horse and taters for our victory feast." He laughed as he thought of something else. "And take our guests to…The Room™."

Nazgûl No. 7 gasped. He was elbowed in the ribs.

The heroes were hauled off, wondering what in the Valar's name was The Room™.

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The Orcs that bundled them into The Room were strangely silent, as if unwilling to stir someone…or something…that was inside it. Anyway, the heroes were chucked inside as quickly as possible.

As soon as the door was barred (and quite securely I might add, the reason shall be apparent in the next few paragraphs.) lights came up from nowhere. So much for not awakening the Thing.

All seven of them gazed in horror. It was hanging from the ceiling and appeared to have noticed them. She (for they believed it to be a she) was beautiful (this is an edit. The original had approximately 42 synonyms of the same word, some repeated and most misspelled.) even if the blood had pooled in her face. She seemed to be hanging by a manacle with EVIL looking runes on around her ankle.

She spoke, and her voice was loud, and yet managed to sound sweet. But mostly loud.

"Leggy!11! Like, OMG! It's u, my luv! Come 2 rescue me and we'l get married!" she exclaimed. Then, "Gornie! You're, like, here too! You can help Leggy! And-" her eyes widened "-Eomer! You are sooooo soooper hot too! Merry and Pippin…adorable widdle munchykins! We wuv you, yes we do…"

They stood there in shock. What manner of being was this creature? She had started to drool, and it dripped steadily into a strategically placed bowl. Mordor wasn't super clean, but it wasn't dirty enough to have MarySue drool all over the place. Sauron _does_ have his standards.

Aragorn poked Legolas, and whispered, "What's all this about rescuing her and getting married?"

The elf prince, otherwise known as Leggy!11, shot him a pained look.

"Like, it hurts! Help me down, and I'll give you kisses! –giggle, giggle, twitter, twitter, snort- EW, did I just, lyk, snort? Yuck!"

In a second they were banging against the door. "Get us OUT of here!" came their unified cry.

But the only reply was the muffled laughter of the Orcs.

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"Tada!"

No. 8 had outdone herself. Frodo was now clothed in tattered black cloth that had a hood that was pulled over his head. Around his breeches (for she could not find proper Hobbit-sized Nazgûl clothing) was a minimized dagger and sword, along with a special horn, which purpose shall remain ambiguous until the next chapter.

He did not wear the pointy boots because he was a Hobbit, but No. 8 had compensated by painting his nails black and silver. Not with nail polish (or varnish) because it does not exist in Middle-Earth.

"Well done, No. 8," Sauron acknowledged from his EVIL throne.

No. 6 looked sulky.

"Thanks, My Lord." No. 8 smiled and turned to Frodo. "Now, Frodo, meet the rest of the gang." She pointed out each Nazgûl in turn as she called out their names.

"The Witch King of Angmar; Bob; Jasper Darlington Higgins IV, or just Higgins for short; Yomama, he's the one who goes 'Shire…Baggins' all the time, you'll learn to ignore it; Pavlov; No. 6, the tailor, you may call him Taylor; No. 7; I'm No. 8 and No. 9. You're No. 9 ¾. Any questions?"

"Why don't Nos 7-9 have names?" Frodo spoke for the first time in front of Sauron.

"Meh, we got lazy choosing original names. Numbers were simpler," replied No. 9.

"And now, my loyal Nazgûl, we welcome our newest addition; Nazgûl 9 ¾, Frodo Baggins! Cheers!" And Sauron raised his chalice of DOOM.

There was a chorus of "Cheers!" and a sole "Shire…Baggins!".

And so, Frodo Baggins was made a Nazgûl.

The party afterwards went on until all hours of the night…or day, it was hard to tell without the sun. Wine was aplenty, and the table groaned under a huge platter of 'Horse-and-Taters' The Orcs who passed by swore on their lucky swords that Nazgûls 2-7 started a rendition of Riverdance, had Riverdance existed in Middle-Earth at the time.

No one noticed the screams coming from The Room™, and if they did…they feigned ignorance.

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Phew. That took a long time to write. And I have school tomorrow. Waaaa! REVIEW and make me feel better!

alien


	3. 02 Of Koss and Them

Disclaimer: Me no own LoTR. WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! Oh, yeah. Tolkein did all the work. Heh.

Also, most of the work of this chapter is the work of mis.mira, who has nothing else better to do. Goddamit. She is also responsible for my speedy (read: delayed) update of the last chapter. Aih. That's what you get for having a sister on ffnet.

And, we have the introduction of a new character. Well, not new, per se, as Koss belongs to Dagniro Vanaliel. I suggest you read the first few chapters that have been written, as they may be deleted at any given time. Thanks to D.V!

And, now, with all adieu, enjoy.

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In the tower of Barad-dûr was a small room located to the west of where Sauron was currently basing his evil headquarters before he could move into Minas Tirith to "rub it into that sodding heir of Isildur's face", as he himself had put it. In that room was a small desk facing perhaps the only window in the tower, for Koss did enjoy staring at Mount. Doom and the plateau of Gorgoroth from time to time, and two booted feet were propped up on the table. The owner of these booted feet was currently watching the progress of the Cleaning Goblin™ who was mopping the marble floor (how else would they stay so shiny?).

Meanwhile another goblin attempted to clean and catalog the many weapons that littered the room; swords, daggers, crossbows, but these weapons did not belong to Koss, but to... Them, as did the pile on shiny lockets, necklaces, brooches, rings and all manner of adornments that sat on a table near the door. In fact, the sole thing Koss valued in that room sat on the desk her feet were resting on; a gift from Sauron, for getting rid of one of Them, a mace, its designs echoing the one he had carried at the Last Alliance, the one he was rumored to have brought out of the ruins of Thangorodrim. However, to diffuse the grandness that surrounded the weapon, she had christened it Grond Junior (the Witch-King of Angmar snorted when he heard that, as much as a Nazgûl could snort).

"My Lady, the Evil One calls for you." An orc burst into the room, jolting Koss out of her thoughts and causing the Cleaning Goblin™ to knock down a rack of whips. The cataloguing goblin growled slightly at the prospect of more work to do.

Koss, Keeper of Sauron's Sanity, rose from her seat, eyes narrowed.

"Very well, I shall go, but I have something for you to do for me," she replied, smiling a sinister smile. "Sauron's cat needs feeding, and I need someone to do it."

The orc's disfigured face twisted into an expression of fear as he caught the implied meaning. Falling to his knees, he begged for mercy as did all before him who had forgotten the cardinal rule; never call Koss a lady. Koss heard his screams as he was dragged towards Shelob's lair and allowed herself a little grin, and then she entered her master's impermanent throne room.

"Your Eye-ness," she said cheekily, bowing slightly, before taking a seat to wait her turn.

Sauron gave her a look when she said it, not the patented Look, for he was in a good mood (who would not if they had just become king of the world?). Koss sat beside Thuringwethil, who immediately bent her head towards her and started giving her updates on Sauron's plans to transform Lothlorien into his summer retreat. The 'Woman of Secret Shadow', who usually took the form of a great bat, currently wore the guise of a meek, brown-haired young woman, though her fingernails were filed down to points and her smile hinted at her sharp set of teeth.

As she watched her master set fire to a goblin's hair, Thuringwethil rummaged around and deposited a single piece of parchment, folded double onto itself, onto Koss' lap, saying that it was from a guard who was currently posted at the Black Gates. Koss opened it and read the barely legible handwriting, being used to reading stuff like this after years at the job. She sucked in her breath; Sauron was not going to be happy when he heard about this.

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The said guard, who had sent Koss the message, (let's call him Thrall), was at present standing on the walkway of the Black Gates, a horrified look plastered on his already disfigured visage as he took in the sight below him. A gaggle of Mary Sues, perhaps fifty or so (but the guard couldn't count, so it might've been more), were gathered outside waving homemade banners, on them were printed sayings such as; "Let Leggy Go!", "Sauron's A Meanie!", "Free Frodo!", and "Give Us Gorny!" all the while waving little plastic figurines of their lust objects. Thrall, who like most orc guard captains had attended Koss' seminar a year ago, leapt into action while his men cringed, shank away, and even collapsed at the sounds those...Things were making. He snatched up the Sue Horn, only to blown if the Sues tried anything, which they were; by magically producing rock-climbing gear and scaling the Black Gate. Thrall put the horn to his mouth and blew.

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Miles away, Sauron looked up from the flame-headed goblin towards the Black Gate, then recognizing the four short blares to be the Mordor Sue Alert, whipped his head towards his Keeper of Sanity. The goblin took the opportunity to run out the room, only to trip over his feet and tumble down countless flights of stairs.

"What's going on?" Sauron boomed and Koss felt Thuringwethil wince beside her.

"Ah. I was about to tell you," she said in a calm voice, "I've just received word that there's a herd of ...Them outside the gates."

Unexpectedly, The Dark Lord laughed.

"I'll go deal with them," he volunteered. "After all, I've just won the war, what's a bevy of Mary Sues to that?"

"Umm...sir? I don't think that's wise," Koss sounded a little flustered, and for good reason. "I realise you are all happy and stuff, but I don't think-"

She broke off as Sauron was already making his way downstairs, she hurried to catch up, muttering things that sounded a little like orcish profanity under her breath. Thuringwethil undid the single button that held her cloak together and spread her wings, taking her giant bat form. She hastened towards the Black Gate, flying past Sauron and Koss, whom had already mounted horses, eager to get there before them. This was something she could not miss.

When Sauron and Koss arrived, the Sues had already reached the other side, thanks to their Sue Powers™, and were demanding to see their beloveds. Sauron chortled, but it sounded like someone choking, and at the sound, forty-seven various weapons were drawn, including a wand and a curling iron. Koss drew her mace and subtly signaled to Thrall and his orcs to sneak up on the little prisses.

"Lyke, who r u?" Asked one of them, her hair changing from bright yellow to a hot pink, making even Koss dizzy.

"I am Sauron, The Lord of the Rings." Sauron thundered, using his Impressive Voice™.

"No ur not!11!" The one with the blue/green/purple/red eyes chirped up. "Sauron's lyke this giant eyeball!11 The movie said so."

Koss covered her ears, knowing what was coming next.

"I AM SAURON! ' THE ABHORRED'! GORTHAUR! THE GREATEST OF THE SERVANTS OF MORGOTH! RULER OVER ALL OF MIDDLE-EARTH!"

The Sues exchanged looks. "Who's Morgoth?" "I thought that my Gorny was ruler over all of Middle Earth?"

"I RULE OVER MIDDLE-EARTH NOW, WENCH!" he said, still using The Voice™. "I AM SAURON!" he added for good measure.

Then suddenly a voice piped up: "So you mean," began the multicolored hair girl, " _You_ own all of Middle-Earth now that Leggy and Gorny are captured?"

"YES."

The Sues huddled together for a group discussion. Sauron, unsure of what to make of this unexpected turn of events, looked over at Koss, who in turn was making frantic gestures at him to run for the hills, for she knew what was about to happen. Before he could ask her what she meant, _They_ had finished their little pow-wow and started talking to Sauron again, but this time, Koss noticed there was a slight dreamy tone in _their_ voices.

" Does this mean, lyke, you'll be king and stuff?" One of _them_ asked(Koss' gestures grew more frantic at this point).

"Yes?" A bewildered Sauron replied. " But what does that hav-"

He was interrupted by screams of "OMG" and "Lyke.. Sauron's soooo hawt !1!"

Sauron took a step backwards, looking uncertain of what to do. The...thing had just called him 'hawt', whatever that meant. He looked around for help as the Sues advanced on him; Thuringwethil was no use, all smug because she was up in the air away from... them, and he could see Koss trying to suppress a smile. They were getting closer...

"NOW!" Koss yelled and the orc guards, who had been stealthily creping up upon the unsuspecting Sues, sprang onto their quarry.

The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity dispatched the screaming girls with particular passion, wielding her mace with vehemence. Even the orcs gave her a wide berth. Within minutes, the whole hoard of Mary Sues had been killed as violently as possible, and the orcs set about removing all their weapons, lockets and other shiny items, to be sent to Koss' office. The Sues' bodies would be burnt on the spot for fear of them regenerating.

Sauron skirted a puddle of glittery pink/green/blue/purple blood and glared at Koss (all the while ignoring Thuringwethil's snickers).

"When were you going to tell me about this?" He asked her, tapping his foot.

"I was going to tell you..." Koss began, wiping blood off her mace with a Sue's dress. "But then this happened..."

Smoke rose from Mount. Doom, a sign that Sauron was getting impatient. Koss decided that it would be at best interests for everyone present if she just cut to the bottom line.

"This way the Mary Sues come."

Cue the dramatic music.

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	4. 03 An escape, of sorts

Aaaaand, we're back! To the giant WHAT IF Sauron won. It'd be a lot less sappy in the movies, that's for sure. Though I would like nothing more to watch the Extended Versions of the trilogy back-to-back. But that's another story.

Warning: Again, blatant disregard of canon. Sorry, Mr. Tolkein sir.

Disclaimer: Don't you get my warning? I don't own the works of J.R.R. Tolkein. Nor do I own anything associated with Mary Poppins, that's Disney's turf.

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"Okay, people," Koss said, her voice loud enough to be heard throughout the capacious room filled to the brim with assorted minions of Sauron. "We're here today to deal with the accident that occurred earlier this morning."

A tremor ran through the meeting's staff, as very vivid images played in their minds.

"Alright. There has been a sudden uprising in Mary Sues (shudders rippled around the room like they were doing the wave) due to our recent victory, and our beloved ruler of the world has requested that I come up with a few more safety measures."

"If you all could turn to page 35 of the handout I distributed during my seminar last year…" Said 'handout' was actually a two-hundred – give or take – page tome, fully alphabetized and complete with an index, about MarySues, their characteristics and, most importantly, how to kill them. If Koss were to sell these books in Mordor, she would have been the richest being in all of Middle-Earth. But that might miff the Evil One.

"As you all can see-"

"Um…O' Keeper of Sauron's Sanity?"

The crowd of underlings parted to reveal an Orc, and a timorous looking one at that. Or maybe it was just because he had just interrupted Koss. He cleared his throat a few times, and she noticed he did not have the Sue Booklet. Oh great, a new one.

"Yes?" she asked with forced patience. If it was a stupid question, the Valar help the unfortunate Orc if she accidentally let fly Grond Junior and it connected with its head.

"Er…you see…I have a question…" An elbow to the ribs made him continue. "What exactly is a…Mary Sue?"

Instant uproar.

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"Are we all clear on the plan?" Aragorn looked pale and drawn, mostly due to the fact that the Mary Sue, who had claimed her name to be Arweena Evenbetterstarr, long lost twin sister of Arwen (**1**) had been driving him up the wall and around the bend with her constant declarations of love and horrible attempts at poetry. But, as he looked back on it, all this had motivated him to come up with said scheme.

At the nods of all those present (excepting 'Arweena') he cracked his knuckles in anticipation. The MarySue hanging from the ceiling squealed at the sound, declaring that he looked 'SOOPER hawt' with that look on his face. "Gornie, your sooo hansum! Take me 2 ur royal bedchambers, giggle! Leggy, u can come 2too! We can hv a 3-some!"

Not wanting to know what 'hawt' or '3-some' meant, the sane occupants of The Room™ gathered around the Drool Pool™. Leggy – sorry, I mean Legolas – made a disgusted face before he changed to 'Super Hot Elf-Prince' mode.

"Oh, beautiful Arweena, with your many powers, surely it is possible for you to escape?" Legolas stretched one hand out to her as if pining for the love of his life. If he was acting (and he WAS) the MarySue could not tell.

Screwing up her chocolate coloured/ sky blue/ puke green eyes, MarySue started chanting in a language that was foreign to the prisoners, but actually meant "Supercalifragalisticaspialadocious" (**2**) in English. Which, of course, does not exist in Middle Earth.

The manacle around her ankle exploded and she landed exactly on Legolas, much to his chagrin. He made a startled and revolted sound as she took control of his mouth, but she must have took it as ardour because she started kissing him harder. Finally a displeased Aragorn pulled her away.

Legolas panted, shoving her off him, and took a few steps back. The rest of them gave him a plethora of space, not wanting to be contaminated by MarySue microbes. He scowled.

"Grab her."

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The problem with Koss having an emergency meeting of the Servants of Sauron (SoS) was the fact that security was down. This was a very bad thing in the midst of a MarySue hullabaloo.

This would explain how there was a group of Sues now wandering about the Tower of Barad-dûr, seeking their assorted lust objects. On a normal day, they would have been messily, but effectively, dismembered. But with the Guard in a conference, they were free to roam the Tower unscathed.

They were meandering, yes, albeit noisily. Each one had her own opinion of where to find and rescue Leggy/ Gornie/ Eomer/ Merry/ Pippin/ Sam/ Frodo/ Brego/Leggy. This noise was a cacophony of squeals, screams, giggles, screeches and, dare I say it, dreamy sighs,

Their temporary leader, a Leggy!1 fan who had an odd fetish of FrodoSam slash – the horror (**3**) – egged them on. "Lyk, comeon gurls, our heros r waiting 4 us!1 Besieds, if we save tem, theyl be soooo grateflul and stuff!1!"

"Lets go left!"

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Koss' eyes narrowed. "What is your name, soldier?"

The Orc gulped nervously, desperately seeking assistance from the others with its eyes. None was forthcoming. "Yûrkhna, O' incomparable Keeper of the Evil One's Sanity."

"Yûrkhna…tell me, were you present during the Sue crisis at the Black Gate, only one hour ago?" She tapped her foot impatiently on the raised dais she was standing on. Already her fingers were running along the handle of Grond Junior. A few Goblins gulped nervously and backed away from their previous positions right in front of the pulpit.

"O' perspicacious Keeper, I have been indisposed in the infirmary for the past few months," the Orc replied. For all his nonchalant words, he was apprehensively shifting from foot to foot, although it would have been out of the question to run, what with the crowd encircling him. The minions were extremely loyal to Koss, she being the only one to stem the flow of MarySues into Mordor.

Koss turned expectantly to the fifth Nazgûl, Pavlov, who was the Nazgûl in charge of all healing systems of the lands of Sauron. Said black-hooded erstwhile king of Man nodded and said, "I can vouch for him, he's either been in one infirmary or the other, with many an injury. The last one was a twisted arm and a broken collarbone, was it not, Yûrkhna?"

The Orc readily bobbed his head in agreement.

"Is there anyone else who can vouch for this unapprised Orc?"

"Shire…Baggins!"

"Thank you, Yomama. Now, Yûrkhna, a MarySue is…"

OoOoOoOoOo

Eomer looked at the MarySue doubtfully. "You think her head will hold?"

Arweena smiled and tossed her long and cascading hair, which was also shining, shimmering, attractively tousled, wind-tossed, and had beautiful highlights that were _totally natural. _"It's a good thing I always wear my extra-extra strong (insert modern hair care brand name that won't be offended with its usage in a fanfic here) styling gel, which keeps my hair in place!1"

Aragorn rapped on her head. ("_Ouch_, Gorny1!") It made a sound like he was knocking against a standard issue Gondorian helmet. As he had suspected; hollow. "It'll hold."

"Ready…One…Two…Three!"

OoOoOoOoOo

"Dotn push moi, biotch!"

"_Ow_!"

"Don't worri my darling honeybunni Gorniekins, I, Ayalina Jadequa Soroniella Truthseeker Dumbledore Moonbeamrider (**4**) wil save u with my speshul powers!1"

"Im pretty sure itsa right, now, u noe…"

OoOoOoOoOo

"…And, since our nefarious leader is now ruler over all of Middle Earth, the Sues, hungry for power as they are, want him to be under their control. This means, we have to protect the Dark Lord Sauron from these hideous creatures (no matter how 'beautiful' they look) before they overrun us and turn our world into one filled with pink, cuteness, bad spelling, exaggeratedly outsized breasts and preposterous names. Understand?" Koss had just finished off her speech.

"Thank you, O' magnificently merciful Keeper of Sauron's Sanity."

She nodded distractedly and said, "Someone get him a Sue Booklet."

"Back to page 35…"

OoOoOoOoOo

"By Eru, that actually worked," was the amazed statement made by a person of their group, as they surveyed the splintered door. The dead body of Arweena Evenbetterstar lay in the remnants of said door. Obviously, her extra-extra strong (insert chosen hair care brand) styling gel could not protect her abnormally thick skull from the expectedly unyielding Mordor door. Bits of her brains ("You mean she actually has them?") lay here and there, and the party of heroes avoided them like the plague.

Aragorn rubbed his hands together. Now, a chance to prove his heritage as the true king of Gondor, the true heir of Isildur, even if the dude had made some bad choices in his life. I mean, he chose not to destroy a band of gold that he could have got made by the best goldsmiths of Gondor. And what had that got him? A one way ticket to the Halls of Mandos. But I digress. This chance would impress everyone too, especially a certain non-human…

"Let's grab these weapons over here," said Gimli, pointing to the pile of (quite obviously) weapons the Orcs had left behind in favour of attending the Sue-Control meeting, and subsequently ensuring that they had a chance in surviving the impending infestation of Them.

The heroes wasted no time in strapping themselves up in lots of impressive looking armaments, and Aragorn unsheathed his sword unnecessarily with a flourish, pointing it down a corridor.

"Gentlemen, I suggest we go left?"

OoOoOoOoOo

"Ooooh, my spidey sense is tinggling…"

"Sistres, I'm gonna wander of alon so dat maybe sum Orks qwill capture me & my Eomre can save me…Any1 wanna come wif?"

"Im not ur sister, biotch!"

The MarySue who had just spoke, Britney Christina Jessica Justintimberlake Hasselhoff, stopped and stared at her with wide, rapidly colour changing eyes. "Bt, aren't u lyk, Aslan's daughter?"

"No no, u got it wrong, Im the daughter of Simba!" exclaimed the Sue with called Simbaneena Kittylion Wolverina Rowr.

"Owh…"

"My daddy's the lyon frmo the New York Zoo! His names Alex! But he gt trasfered to Madagas Car…cos he's soooo sooper importante."

OoOoOoOoOo

"…for the few smarter ones among you may attempt to use Logic to defeat Them. Ask her where's she's actually from, how she got here, why her hair changes colour, anything to point out that she doesn't belong here. Then, when the Logic finally seeps in, she will disappear in a puff of pink smoke. Or, she might spontaneously combust."

"For the _rest_ of you," here Koss broke off to stare pointedly at Nazgûl number 7, who was busily trying to pick his invisible nose. "I recommend the list of sayings on page 162, such as 'I think your hair's mussed up' or 'I think there's a spot of dirt on your dress' or the ever popular 'Is that a _zit_?'. This will give you adequate time to sound the Sue alarm.

"For those who are completely and utterly hopeless, you can always say 'Leggy, put your clothes back on!'"

OoOoOoOoOo

"Now…which way is Sauron's quarters?"

Pippin tugged on Aragorn's tunic. "Strider?"

"Quiet, Pippin, I'm using my mad Ranger skillz, yo!"

"Legolas…"

"Not now, young Took, can't you see I'm utilizing my sooper kewl elf moves here?"

"Don't forget my Rohirric Rohan-ness!" chimed in Eomer.

Pippin sighed. They had not noticed the giant sign that practically screamed 'Sauron's Quarters'. He tried Gandalf.

"Silence, Fool of a Took! The war between mutants and humans is nigh! With Mystique and Pyro by my side, I am infallible!"

Everyone turned to stare at him dumbfounded. "Say what?"

OoOoOoOoOo

"Shh! Can u grls hera that?"

"Hear what?"

_Sooper kewl Elf moves…mad Ranger skillz, yo…sooper kewl Elf moves…mutants and humans…say what?...Rohirric Rohan-ness!_

"SQUEE!"

OoOoOoOoOo

Merry looked up. "Did you guys hear something?"

Even Gimli gripped his 'borrowed' axe tightly. "Sounds like a stampede…"

"I…have heard this fell sound before," exclaimed Legolas. "It's somewhat akin to the raging Oliphaunts we met in Gondor on the fields of Pelennor!"

"I've heard it too!" Aragorn said, not wanting to be outdone by some nancing prissy Elf.

"I somehow doubt Oliphaunts made such high, squealing noises," commented Gimli. Then, simultaneously, their eyes widened as they came to the obvious conclusion.

"RUN!"

OoOoOoOoOo

The bevy of Sues had the same idea.

"It _is_ them1! RUN!"

The heroes were fast and so made it back into The Room™ with time for Gandalf to bar the doorway with his magic. They all heaved a sigh of relief when the MarySues whacked into an invisible wall.

Then, the daughter of Alex the Lion of Madagas Car, one Lionpuppycub Iliketomoveitmoveit Stripes, noticed something. She called the others quickly.

'Sauron's Quarters' said the large sign. It was conveniently pointing in the direction to their right…

"SQUEEEEE!"

OoOoOoOoOo

**(1) For the purposes of this story, Arwen will be dead. Or, if you want, you can imagine her to have sailed to the Undying Lands.**

**(2) Is that how you spell it? Here it's just spelled phonetically.**

**(3) I have nothing against slash, really, but FrodoSam pairings kinda freak me out. Sorry to all the shippers.**

**(4) Borrowed from Citygirl's 'The Mary Sues Cometh' in the Harry Potter section.**

Out of sheer randomness, did you know my brother's name is actually Rohan? No lies.

Review sweets! Thanks again to Dagniro Vanaliel for the loaning of Koss!

alienated


	5. 04 Krispy Kittens

Disclaimer: I don't own LoTR because I'm not famous, nor am I rich. And I'm not dead either. (No disrespect!) Again, the weekly sacrifice of my minions goes to Dagniro Vanaliel, for the loaning of Koss. Sue names that appear in this chapter (actually in the whole fic) are either taken from various MarySue manuals, made up by yours truly or pinched from real MarySue fics. Shudder.

Warning: Insanity, implied slash, and MarySues.

Canon? What canon?

OoOoOoOoOo

It wasn't long before the multitude of MarySues (for more had teleported, Apparated, and otherwise appeared, adding to their numbers significantly) reached a long and twisting staircase that led to Sauron's quarters, if the sign was any indication.

So off they went, pushing and shoving (and in the case of some, jostling for place in the air whilst flying) and otherwise wanting, needing to be the first one to Sauron, the ZOMG ALL POWERFUL NEW LEADER OF THE WHOLE WORLD, SQUEE, and beguile him into marrying one of them, although, in truth, he was far more besotted with the gold ring on his finger.

And there was that obvious snag of him spending a lot of the Last Age in the form of a GIANT EYE OF WRITHING FLAME. But, hey, all an EVIL lord needs is a hug, right?

Right.

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss was already wrapping up her meeting, before Nazgûl 6 decided that anti-Sue suits were in order. They did not have time to get all the Servants of Sauron (SoS) measured and fitted for Sue repelling outfits.

Besides, she could really imagine Sauron's battalion comparing notes on inseam lengths and complaining on how '_his Sue-fit is better than **mine**!'._ Yes.

She was just about to hand out the new schedule when a high-pitched screech rang out, reverberating around the whole of Barad-dûr.

"KOSS! GET HERE NOWWW!"

Said Keeper of Sanity sighed and rubbed her temples resignedly. "If it's _another_ kitten in his bathtub, I _swear_…" She looked up, and said, "Nazgûl 8, if you would be so considerate to distribute these and dismiss the troops? I need to see what our superlative leader wants _this_ time." As one – or, more accurately, as one and three eights – the SoS stood and saluted the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity. It was imperative that they have a high regard for her. Shelob was never _fully_ satiated.

"KOSSSSSSSSS!"

She sighed again, in provocation, and started up the secret stairs that was her way into Sauron's quarters in such emergencies, wondering what in the Valar's names the Dark Lord wanted her for _now_.

OoOoOoOoOo

Said Dark Lord Sauron, greatest of all the servants of Morgoth, was currently clinging on to the giant chandelier in his Main Quarters for dear life. The reason? Why, don't you know? The MarySues had invaded. And They had dared deign themselves worthy of courting him, when they weren't even worth licking the gunk off Yomama's boots? Yes, the Sues were not even worth _that_.

Sauron would have made them do that, if they had not swarmed him in his PRIVATE Quarters. Really, what did the Ruler of the World have to do to get some peace?

Right now, the biggest threat was the Sue Xacanythia. She wuz a slender, pail Elvishe women2 da eyes, tough her colourig was eggsotic - brite sylver hair wif strakes of white init, & brihte sylver eyes. It wuiz onli wen she turnde and lokd sum1 tat dey realzed here was a people of immensely age years old. Her iyes shoned& sparklied wif tat age years, ricH an& tick wit lite. And they shud. Xacamythia had been bourn ofa union among an Elfs anda dragon, long ago in a galazxy far, far away, wen the draggons hadnot yeilded2 evil ad culd stil assume the form of Elvas. She cold see lyhke either, bt 4 a looooong thyme she had preferered dis two-leggs formation, with wings on her back, wen shewas not actually really ravaginging. **(1)**

At least that was what she told him (in her own words, of course), all the while buzzing around his head. She was more reminiscent of a fly than a dragon, really. And, besides…what fool of an Elf would unite himself/herself with a great hulking, scaly, treasure-obsessed, flying lizard? Sodding Elves. Thinking they were sooo special, and being able to do whatever they pleased.

One of the Sues had actually tried to force some kind of drink down his throat. Sauron didn't get to where he was (leader of Middle-Earth, in case you forgot, which you SHOULDN'T) by being stupid. Well, there _was_ that one time…but NEVERMIND about that.

The Sues were becoming more and more impatient, wanting to ensnare him with cheap poetry and even cheaper glittery eye shadow. There were even a few who were trying to start a pillow fight. They were goading him down to join them with many a flutter of extremely long eyelashes similar to that of cows. Or, at least, attempting to. Koss had told him about Sue pillow fights. They were just an excuse to remove already skanky items of clothing, lure the desired lust object to a conveniently moonlit balcony/alcove, followed by proclamations of undying love and tonsil hockey. He shuddered.

Xacanythia (or was it Xacamythia?) made another grab for the Dark Lord, but the chandelier was doing a very good job of shielding him from any attacks. Where was his Sanity Keeper! He could already feel said good sense slipping away between his ears…

"KOSS!"

OoOoOoOoOo

"Are you sure it's safe, Strider?" Merry looked worried, and for good reason.

The Ranger sniffed, and immediately regretted it. The corpse of Arweena Evenbetterstarr (which had been left to rot after her brief stint as a door rammer) gave off the smell of lavender, blue berries and about every single perfume known to the mankind of modern Earth. Quite the stench.

"Of _course_ it's safe, Merry. It's not like I'm going to _touch_ it…" And touch it he wouldn't. Only a suicidal maniac would be fool enough let MarySue drool touch his bare skin. "Now, observe."

His hand, wrapped up in a piece of white cloth (Gandalf wasn't very happy about _that_) held the Drool Pool™ in its bowl. He motioned for everyone to stand back, and carefully tipped said bowl so that a drop of the killer drool fell to the floor.

The pure black marble hissed and sizzled. Smoke rose in plumes. Everyone coughed and waved their hands in front of their eyes, except for Pippin, Merry and Gimli, who were too low to the ground to actually be affected by it.

As the air cleared, surprise was clear on everyone's faces (except Aragorn, the conductor of this little experiment). The single drop of Sue Spit™ had burned a palantir sized hole in the floor. And there was a _whole_ mithril bowlful of the stuff…

"Gentlemen, I think we have our way out." Eomer grinned wickedly.

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss muttered to herself cantankerously. _Why_ had she agreed to be Sauron's Sanity Keeper? As soon as she thought that, she winced. It _definitely _beat the alternative.** (2)**

Grond Jr. bounced comfortably on her hip as she climbed the seemingly never ending flight of stairs. Said steps led all the way from the bottom of the tower of Barad-dûr till Sauron's Quarters at the very top. She had had it built the first month she had started her duties as Keeper of Sauron's Sanity. Only Class A personnel could access it; that meant only her and the nine (and three quarters) Nazgûl.

It was only meant to be used in the most terrible of situations. But, to Sauron, her employer and Supreme Ruler of Middle-Earth, these 'most terrible of situations' could mean anything to not being able to find his favourite helmet to something disgusting on his windowsill. (It had been a cute little squirrel. How _that_ got into Mordor, she'd never know.)

So, needless to say, she was quite surprised to see her aforementioned employer hanging unorthodoxly from the ceiling chandelier, above a mass of scantily clad Sues ripping apart pillows. Some were even airborne. She had to contact the archers about that.

When she entered, the door had slammed open. She was the only one who dared do so in Sauron's Quarters; not that he was ever shocked, of course. An EVIL lord of the world had a reputation to uphold after all, even if it was in front of his employees.

All the Sues stood motionless (except for the few flying Sues, they stopped flying and gravity did her job; satisfying thuds and cracks were heard.) Then one particularly Sue-ish one, all 'cascading blond tresses' and 'full pouty lips', gave a dazzling smile that almost blinded Koss.

"Excelent!1 Reinforcements!"

Koss was incensed. Never mind that this Sue knew such a long word like 'reinforcement', she had called Koss…one of _them_. Something she was _not_ about to forgive. A twisted smile spread across her face.

"Wrong side, sweetie."

Sauron gave an EVIL cackle from his position perched comfortably above them all. "Oh, Koss, you always crack me up."

"Crack up, alright," she muttered, and gave four short bursts on her Sue Horn.

Grond Jr. was let loose.

OoOoOoOoOo

The heroes finally breathed clean air, and they surveyed their work as the smoke dissipated. Drop after drop of the Sue Spit™ had been, well, dropped into the indent they had created earlier. It had burned clean through the marble (Sauron would _not_ be pleased), forming a quite large hole. It was better than nothing at any rate.

Fortunately, (or maybe _un_fortunately) Gandalf had the gift of foresight, and suggested that one of them peer down and see what lay beneath before they all jumped down with much gusto.

Legolas was picked for this job. When he asked for a reason, the White Wizard said that it was because he was the prettiest. Needless to say, he wasn't very happy about that. But, it is very bad to have an Istari angry at you, so, muttering Elvish profanity that made Aragorn blush, and Gimli frown, puzzled, he kneeled down and peered down the hole.

"OMG…is dat _Leggy's eyeball_!11!"

"SQUEE!"

"I GET HIS EYELASH!1!"

"I WANNA HIS IRIS!"

Immediately, fifteen hands with terrifyingly long talons of hideous sparkly colours poked out of the hole, just as Legolas jerked his head back in alarm. At that point, Eomer went hysterical, overwhelmed by the overall Sue-ishness. Out of habit, he bit back the urge to vomit, instead letting out a frightened scream, and grabbed Gimli's helmet. ("Hey!")

Then, Eomer of Rohan jammed said head covering repeatedly into the hole until it stuck. A lone hand (which had nine-inch claws painted blood red) twitched slightly. The still-crazed Eomer stomped on it. Twice.

Pippin raised an eyebrow. "Guess _that_ way's out of the question then."

"Shut up, you **(censored)** fool of a Took."

"I thought you only called me _Fool _of a Took!"

"That's only the nicey nice version for kiddies. **(Censored)."**

"Oh. So now I'm a **(censored) **foolof a Took?"

"Damn straight."

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss had slaughtered the first Sue with a passion. But while the Sue's hard-yet-hollow head had crumpled under Grond Jr., a thought came to her. A very insidious and evil plan. Evil enough to compete with Sauron, you ask? Probably. Yes. Very much so.

So when backup arrived, she gave the hand signal that made the underlings scratch their heads (not literally, of course; that would mean re-sheathing their weapons.) But they did what their training taught them to do, and complied with her (strange) order, lest they be severely punished.

It wasn't long before Lord Sauron could stand on his own two feet again. The EVIL Look of Doom was sufficient to keep the servants scared enough to keep quiet. For their own good. Not that it stopped Koss. But, then again, she had a more privileged position than the rest.

The Sues were clapped in irons and marched all the way back down, Koss taking precedence. Not as their leader, of course. Sauron had given her an odd look when she displayed remarkable constraint in not dismembering the Sues, but he did not question it, feeling extremely relieved that his Quarters were now Sue-free.

And so began their long trek down the long and winding stairs. It was also the longest walk Koss had ever endured, as will be shown by the following sentence.

The Sues did not take to _walking_ very well. At all.

"My foots hurt!123!"

"ZOMFG, I broked a _nail!1!1!1_"

Almost immediately, all of the Sues present started screaming blue murder. The fey sound bounced off the walls, trouncing the shrieks of the Nazgûl. Most of the Orcs guarding the Sues crouched down, hands clapped over their ears.

After the malevolent sound had finally dissipated, one Sue sniffled piteously. "I wanna my Leggy-poo!"

The multicoloured eyes of all the Sues swivelled in her direction. A Barbie-clone next to her elbowed her in the ribs.

"_Helooooo_, I _told_ u kay, who has all the munni, lyk, to pay 4all of ur cloths, jewwelerey, n _shoes_!1?"

A dawning look dawned in her blue-yellow-magenta eyes. Then she sniffed again. "I wanna my Sauron-poo!"

The Sues returned to their whinging, screaming and flipping of outrageously long hair. One lone Sue tripped over her 'fiery-red locks', broke her bonds, and went tumbling down the stairs. They all heard her screams, her body thudding down the steps (much like the corpse Pippin pushed down the well in the mines in Moria) and the sickening crack of her spinal cord. Koss gave a little giggle.

As they finally (_finally_) neared The Room™ Koss stopped in shock. The door lay in splinters on the floor. She rushed forward, and heaved a sigh of relief when she saw the scene inside The Room™.

The Man with the horse-hair helmet was running around in circles. She couldn't remember his name, though he looked…horsey. That meant she could safely assume he was from Rohan. But it was still odd that the 'heroes' remain in The Room™ when the door was wide open.

She stretched out her hand and poked the air, not very surprised when it came across an invisible door. Before she could come up with a solution to removing it, one of the Sues caught sight of Legolas.

"OMFGZ!1! LEGGY!1"

Said Sue somehow broke free of her chains, and ran forward, straight at her 'Leggy!1', straight at Koss. The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity stepped to the side as the Sue ran past her…

And smacked straight into the invisible barrier.

This, in turn did two things. One, the Sue in question shattered the invisible door into pieces, killing her in the process, and two, drew all the Sues' attention towards the five most eligible bachelors in Middle Earth. Oh, and the wizard and dwarf were in there too. Their screams filled the air once more, but this time it sounded more like a Backstreet Boys concert. Actually, they were called the IthilienStreet Guys, who played music with rocks in.

"MARRY ME MERRY!11&"

"PICK MI PIPPNI!"

"ELOPE WIT ME EOMRE!"

"U R GRATE GORNY."

"SQUEEEEEE!"

As one, the Sues surged towards the now open door, and at their lust objects. Poor Eomer (the horsey-looking one, remember?) went even more insane. So much for the King of Rohan.

Koss cautiously stood in the doorway of the Room™ and smiled satisfactorily to herself as she saw bevies of Sues swarm 'Gornie', 'Leggy, 'Eomre', Merry and Pippin. The white wizard and the Dwarf stood at a safe distance away, most probably thanking their lucky stars none were after them. After all, in Sue fics, Gandalf was always the GrumpyMentor!Gandalf, and Gimli was the smelly old short…thing on legs.

She called one of the Orcs over, and told him to get a new, better door fitted for the room. "Preferably one made out of mithril," she added.

"My-um, O' Koss?" The Harad looked nervous, and was currently thanking his lucky stars that he had caught himself in time.

She raised her eyebrows and signalled he continue. A letter was passed to her.

"From the Dark Lord Sauron, O' Warden of His Sanity." The Harad bowed and continued his way, and if Koss noticed that his walking was more a run, she did not deign to comment. She unfolded the scrap of paper and recognized the hand of her employer.

_Koss, I want to see you in my Quarters. As soon as you deign necessary. Which means NOW._

_Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', Gorthaur, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, The Great Flaming Eye, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, etcetera, etcetera._

_P.S. Could you get me a fried squirrel, or a Krispy Kitten from the kitchens? I don't know, something cute and crunchy. Maybe even some of those Gummi Worms you like…except not Gummi. And those Fish Fingers…except not so…Fish._

_Sauron :-)_

OoOoOoOoOo

**(1)**Modified from 'The Game of the Gods'. Check it out, it's on ffnet.

**(2)**Please see 'Keeper of Sauron's Sanity' by Dagniro Vanaliel. If you cannot find it, ask me for it and I will send it to you, as long as you leave your email address.

Phew. That took quite a short time, if you ask me. Lol. Does anyone have any suggestions for titles for Sauron? He could use a few more.

As always, don't forget to review, sweets!

alien.


	6. 05 Queer Orc For the Straight Orc

Already I have started on a new chapter! Praise me! Praise me!

Disclaimer: All belongs to the Tolkein dude. Not me. Ya' geddit? Oh, Koss ain't mine either.

Warning: Grab a barf bag. The Sues do that to you.

Oh, and the implied slash and insanity too.

Mucho importante A/N which I don't usually do: About Sauron's marital status, that will be coming up in a couple of chapters. Don't worry. As for Eowyn… (evil smile)

OoOoOoOoOo

For the second time that day Koss tramped up the emergency stairs, this time a Southron laden with a tray of delicacies for the Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Flaming Eye, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, etcetera, etcetera, following.

Where were we…? Ah, yes, Koss. As previously mentioned, the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity was marching up the stairs. What her employer with the numerous titles wanted, she would know now. The door slammed open and Koss scowled as she saw Sauron sitting calmly in one of his many thrones. One day, one day…

She gave a short bow, "Your Eye-ness." The Southron behind her made a low sweeping obeisance, which she had to give him credit for; he was still holding the overloaded tray.

The Dark Lord seemed pleased as the servant placed said tray on a low table next to him. He took his time choosing delicacies the Mordor cooks had prepared (excluding Sam, of course; the poor Hobbit couldn't stomach the notion of cooking cute, furry animals.) seemingly oblivious to the Southron who took his leave (closing the door quietly behind him) or Koss, who was looking impatient.

There was a loud crunching noise as Sauron finally made his choice. Koss looked up just in time to see a black tongue flick a fingernail back into his mouth. Shudder.

"Koss, I have called you here for a very special reason."

"What, you're getting married?"

Sauron chuckled a bit, and it sounded like the little rocks that roll down the mountain before the impending avalanche. "As if _that_ will ever happen. I mean, it's not like I want to get married, or anything," he added, lest he sound piteous, or something. And as an EVIL dark lord, that would simply _not_ do.

"Actually, I'm going to give you a day off."

Koss started. Surely he was not serious? "But, my Lord, I have been in your service for-"

"I know, I know, many, many years," he cut in smoothly.

"I was going to say 923 years, five months and twelve and a half days. **(1)** Not that I'm counting, or anything." She stood with her arms akimbo, undaunted that she was in the presence of the EVILest dark Lord, lyk, evah! "I've never taken a day off! Do I really need to go around besmirching my record _now_?"

"Now, now, Koss, I'm sure we can handle _one_ day without you." Sauron pointedly ignored Koss' snort of disbelief. His voice took on a menacing tone. "Take a day off _now_…you need it, come on. After all you've done."

Koss decided to resort to childish behaviour. Nothing else was working, anyway. Abandoning all decorum, she stomped her foot and pouted. "I don't wanna!"

Sauron used the Voice™.

"DAY OFF. NOW."

OoOoOoOoOo

And thus, Koss sat beside the little streamlet, the same place where Sam and Frodo (Nazgûl 9 ¾) had replenished their water during their futile quest to destroy the ring, holding a reflector up to her face and dressed in Mordor's latest line in swimwear.

Thinking murderous thoughts involving Sauron and MarySues, it was small wonder why she didn't hear nor see the Sue. An arrow was aimed in her direction. Or somewhere in her general direction anyway. She cocked an eyebrow at the Sue.

"What do you want?"

"Iam gonna save myt Gorniekins and Leggypoo!1! And u wont stopp me, b!#! (A/N: Hee, hee, dis wuz y its pg13!) For I am Adriennetta Bernadettinala Cassiopeia Deelylahe Ekelcitry Fynelooking Goddessina Hectorina Isadora Jizrahulio Katherynne Lilalolelu Mirrillillilli Napthaleney Orriegynn Picadillylillylolly Qwestchan Rockerfellaskank Selinamelinadelinadinar Tuttifrutti-"

Koss focused her attention on her reflector, concluding that a Sue with such a drawn out and mind-numbing name would be of no challenge.

"-Unicornmasterprincess Vampyrempress Wallawallabingbang Xeroxmaschinne Yuckumucky Zazazooom 1234567890 Scotch Broom Cytisus Scoparius Staminate Pistillate Photosynthesyse Monokotledonnes Jermineating Pinktwinkle Ashlee Mynameissoverilongg Redorangeyellowgreenblueindigoviolet Raynebowe Iama Konceeted Beeyotch LeggysSexiHunni-"

The Sue still had no intention of letting up. Koss briefly toyed with the idea of making her repeat herself.

"-Therealauthor'shandshurt Andeherbraynetoo Hihohiho Snowwhite Redrose Shitbrown Pukegreen Sylvasparkliedwagon Icecreamisyummylicious Idonwanna Goetoskuul Ukan'tmaketheth Memummee Eyeh8addmathstutionne Nuttibanana Childeofdarknessandlight Potter-Malfoy-Weasley-Granger Dumbledorinnina Pevensie Corlath Duhterminator Scoobydoobydoo-"

Maybe if she asked the Sue to recite the extremely long name underwater?

"-Turner-Sparrow-Norrington Bush Austeena Powerz Bond Spyhigh Imgoying2dissektwhyte Mousiesonwednesdie Mitosis Congruency Fma Northsoutheastwest MethHighschoolis dabest Tralalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalal alalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala-"

The Sue, who had been turning interesting shades of pink, followed by blue, then purple, suddenly keeled over, dead. And Koss hadn't had to lift a finger, even.

"And she was just getting to the best part too."

Then someone else jumped out at Koss, this time brandishing Elvish blades like she knew how to use them. Or, more accurately, like he knew how to wield them. A regal looking Elf stood before her, looking around the place, taking in her lava-print bikini and the two Orcs standing beside her, one waving a shield up and down so as to create a breeze and the other holding a chilled drink. Koss sized this one up, trying to gauge whether or not he was a threat to her wellbeing.

Thinking fast, she draped an arm melodramatically over her forehead and exclaimed, "Save me please, good sir, for I am being tortured by these foul Orcs!" She fluttered her eyelashes becomingly for better effect.

For dramatic purposes, she supposed, he promptly dropped his long knives to the ground, and made a great show of unhooking his bow from his back and restringing it impressively, flipping his hair over one shoulder in the process. While he did so, Koss could have sworn she heard him humming theme music under his breath. Rolling her eyes, she snapped her fingers and the Orc waving the shield brought it up above the Elf's head and brought it down sharply with a resounding clang.

She waved her hand at the other Orc, taking her drink from him, and instructed him to drag the Elf to the Room™. The other Orc was told to resume his fanning.

OoOoOoOoOo

It was relatively quiet in the Room™, a major difference from when we last left the heroes to their fate with the Sues. A new door had indeed been fitted while the heroes (minus Gimli and Gandalf) did battle with their stalkers.

The Sues (or what was left of them) were in a pile in the corner, not unlike the pile of Orc carcasses Eomer and his men had burned in Rohan, near Fangorn. But said Horse Lord was in no condition to hunt Orcs, much less burn Sues, as he was too busy crouching in the corner, twitching. Legolas was in another corner, muttering to himself and jumping at every slight sound.

Gimli sat, humming happily to himself. He had killed most of the Sues, and was presently stringing shiny Sue teeth into a necklace. He would present it to the Lady Galadriel once they got out of this mess. A Sue-venir™.

Merry and Pippin were playing 'Hot Potato' with a Sue's familiar, a ferocious looking kitten, while Aragorn refereed. Gandalf was propped against the wall, snoring, oblivious to the furore around him that was Gimli's humming, Merry and Pippin's shouts of glee, Legolas' ramblings, the kitten's hissing and Aragorn's cheers.

Suddenly, there was the sound of the bolt being dragged across the mithril door. Gandalf the White jerked awake with a start, and the Sue's familiar hit the floor with a soft thud. The door opened and a bundle consisting of expensive Elvish robes and silky brown hair was unceremoniously dumped on the floor. The bundle cursed.

"It is Figwit!" Aragorn exclaimed with wonderment in his voice, and Eomer immediately fell out of his stupor. Merry and Pippin ran forward, hands clasped and eyes shining. Even Gimli stopped thinking about Galadriel. For a moment. But then thoughts of a certain _someone_ kept all others out of his mind. So he was quite indifferent to the presence of the 'omnipotent' Figwit.

Legolas' eyes grew wider. "Not him. Not here," he whispered to himself, hoping it was a really, really horrifying nightmare.

"How did you get captured, Figwit?" Gandalf asked, smiling benevolently at the Elf.

Said Elf's eye twitched very slightly. Very slightly. Then he put on a dazzling smile and exclaimed, "It took a hundred Orcs and the nine Nazgûl to subjugate me!"

Legolas snorted. "You probably were only taken down by _one_."

As one the rest of the heroes under Figwit's spell turned on him.

"You've always been like this, Legolas! You're always envious of Figwit!" Aragorn reprimanded. There was only so much Legolas could take. What with the loss of the War of the Ring, the lack of uncontaminated water and moisturizer, the Sues, and now the appearance of the dearest brother Figwit as well as the mutiny of his so-called friends. Legolas snapped.

OoOoOoOoOo

The two Orcs beside Koss (her designated drink holder and shield fanner) were engaged in heated deliberation.

"You wake her up," one Orc, Afiĭq, said, motioning towards Koss with the shield.

"No, _you_ wake her up," retorted Ħąaris, baring his yellow teeth.

"You wake her up!"

"No, you!"

"You!"

"You!"

"You!"

Just then, Koss shifted a little, and murmured something that sounded horribly like, "Kill them all…"

Silence reigned. "Maybe we'll tell her later," suggested Ħąaris after awhile. "I mean, it's not as if it's pressing, or anything."

Afiĭq relaxed. "Yeah. Later." And he resumed fanning.

OoOoOoOoOo

Sauron's army had already breached the White City of Gondor (for the second time) and had progressed to the highest level. The White Tree had been chopped down, as it had died. Besides, why would Sauron want an ugly, dead, discoloured tree? All nine and three quarter Nazgûl were there, for it was little Frodo's first ever mission.

All the other nine Nazgûl stood behind various pillars just outside the Houses of Healing, where Faramir and Eowyn were quite obviously healing. The Halfling's job was to infiltrate the Houses, and lure out the Shieldmaiden of Rohan and the young Captain of Gondor. The Nazgûl gave friendly pats on Frodo's shoulder, offering sagely words of advice, like "Don't trip over your robes" and "Shire…Baggins!"

And so, Nazgûl 9 ¾, formerly known as the Hobbit Frodo Baggins of Bag End, squared his shoulders, smoothened his robes and pushed the doors to the House of Healing open (with some minor difficulty) and entered.

Around five minutes had passed with no real incident (unless you count a group of Orcs shoving a flaming body of a Gondorian soldier off the citadel) and the rest of the Nazgûl started calling out bets. You know, on whether or not their latest member would actually carry out the deed.

"I'll give him another five minutes till he comes out without them," Nazgûl 3, Higgins, offered magnanimously.

Bob sneered under his hood. "I bet 17 Eyes he'll come out screaming for his mummy." Just in case you didn't know, Eyes were the currency in Mordor, silver coins in the shape of Sauron in his eye form. Mordor Money™, if you will.

"Shire…Baggins!"

The other Nazgûl were stunned. "You actually think he'll come out in the next 30 seconds with both humans?" Nazgûl 9 asked, amazed. Yomama nodded, and motioned that they pay attention to the expert.

"I'll bet you my favourite jewelled dagger you're wrong!"

"_I'll_ bet all my Eyes you're wrong!"

"Shire, BAGGINS."

"I-"

They stopped their bickering as the door to Gondor's Houses of Healing opened. Frodo walked out…followed by Faramir and Eowyn. Smug, Yomama waved a hand and a group of Orcs jumped out of the shadows and knocked both humans out, bound and gagged them.

All the Nazgûl (excluding Yomama and Frodo) gave a glare in Yomama's direction and swarmed around Frodo. He seemed to be in one piece, not even a tear in his robes or a hair on his foot out of place.

"How did you manage it, Nazgûl 9 ¾?" the Witch King of Angmar asked, something nearing admiration in his voice.

The littlest Nazgûl smiled. "My little secret."

OoOoOoOoOo

An Orc, a Harad and a Corsair stood with their heads together, trying to come to a decision on what they would do the throne room of Gondor, while a Goblin groaned under the weight of numerous drawings and sketches. They were the best designing team in Mordor. Think _'Queer Orc For the Straight Orc'. _**(2)**

All around them was pandemonium, as various SoS (Servants of Sauron, you mustn't forget) pulled down the many statues of past kings of Gondor. Pretty soon, when all the dust had cleared, all that remained was the throne.

Sculptures of Sauron in various poses were erected; one of him in the armour he wore during the War of the Ring; one of him holding up Grond to the stars; one of him blowing kisses; and one of him…in the nude. Shudder. The one out front was the best though. A huge marble statue of Sauron showing his third finger ("They cut it off, but I got it back!") took the place of the White Tree. Quite the artistic touch.

"Alright you guys, Lord Sauron wants the whole place in black and red," the Corsair said, consulting his notepad and pushing his meticulously washed hair out of his face.

The Harad groaned. "He _always_ wants it in black and red! Have you _seen_ Barad-dûr? Oh. My. Valar. Talk about repetition!"

"You have to agree that they _do_ go together you know. And the Dark Lord isn't exactly fond of bright colours." The Orc, one of the original designers of the Tower of Barad-dûr, tried hard not to wrench the Harad's earrings out of his ear. How dare he insinuate the colour plan was lacklustre!

"He has a point."

"What point? The fact is that this is a _new_ base for Lord Sauron! A new beginning! A new age of terror and reverence! A new colour scheme!" The bold patterns of paint on the Harad's face only served to make him look all the more unwavering.

"He has a point."

The Orc sighed. These amateurs had no clue. "Very well. But you will get all the acknowledgment for this work."

The Harad sniffed. "Of course I will. Now, I was thinking about painting the bedroom a nice duck-egg blue, and the throne room urple…"

OoOoOoOoOo

**(1) **Koss was born in the year 124. She joined Sauron in 2096 at the age of 1972. Now it is the year 3019, and she has worked for Sauron for 923 years, being 2895.

**(2) **Borrowed with permission from "Sauron's Throne" by biggstrek. Thanks!

Again, I bow down to the genius of Dagniro Vanaliel, creator of Koss. You people were great, 10 reviews on the last chapter…I think. So let's try to better that score, eh? (HINT, HINT!)

Toodles!

alien XD


	7. 06 We forgot about the Others

The fact that I'm actually typing this up the same day I updated means nothing. I'll probably only upload this on ffnet sometime in the following weeks…and only if I get reviews! XD

Warning: Insanity, slight slash and MarySues. Their teeth are shiny, precious.

Disclaimer: I do not own LoTR. The claim has been dissed!

A/N: Hey this is the second time in…six chapters and a prologue! Go me. Ahem. Anyway, I would like to thank the reviewers of the last chapter, my cheeks still hurt from smiling so much.

To those that do not know (looks pointedly at Fili) Figwit is the Elf you see both in the Council of Elrond and Return of the King. In FoTR, you first see Figwit when Frodo offers to take the ring. In RoTK, he's the one who tells Arwen to hurry up. His name is actually the acronym of "Frodo Is Great- Who Is That!". For the purposes of this story, he is also…(dun dun dunn…) Legolas' older brother.

I suppose you could call him a Gary-Stu.

As for the colour 'urple', it really is a colour; please consult the "The Official Fanfiction University of Middle-earth" by Camilla Sandman. I did _not_ mean it to be purple.

That is all; enjoy my humble offerings of humour.

OoOoOoOoOo

Eowyn and Faramir came to just as the Orcs carrying them entered Barad-dûr. Noticing this, the head Orc ordered they be put on their feet and walk, he didn't want his squad to spoil the 'namby-pamby humans', as he so eloquently put it.

As they neared the Room™, all nine (and three quarters, dammit) Nazgûl passed by. Eowyn stopped dead in her tracks, causing Faramir to bump into her and the Orcs hiss in displeasure.

"Y-You're the Witch King of Angmar! I _killed_ you!" she exclaimed in horror, and would have pointed at…him…it…whatever…if her hands had not been bound by chains. (The Orcs quite obviously weren't taking any chances.)

One of the Nazgûl, presumably the Witch King, surprised her and the young Captain of Gondor by sticking out his tongue. Or what would have been a tongue after a millennia or so. "To borrow a phrase; Neener!" he said, and turned on his heel, laughing.

Bewildered, both humans were bundled into the Room™ as quickly as possible, while the rest of the Nazgûl followed their 'leader' and stalked off (with the exception of Frodo, who had to run a little to keep up. But he was doing it imposingly…). Their bonds were removed, and both stared at the bizarre sight of dead bodies of…Things piled into a heap in the corner of the Room™.

"Sister!" Eowyn had no warning when Eomer launched himself at her and hugged her gleefully, spinning her around in circles until she was ready to throw up. Okay, so she _did_ throw up.

"Sorry, Eomer," she apologised, wiping the corner of her mouth. "Still haven't recovered from the battle at Pelennor Fields."

Said Horse-Lord looked distastefully at the gunk all over the front of his previously shiny Rohan armour, and raised his eyebrow. "This had better not stain…" he threatened.

Aside from this touching sibling reunion, the younger brother of Boromir was embraced heartily by Thorongil, or, as he was more commonly known in this age, Aragorn. Gimli watched this exchange with narrowed eyes; he did not want to trust this new Man anytime soon. If he was anything like his brother or father…

"What news do you have of the rest of Middle-Earth?" Gandalf pressed eagerly.

"Well, I have not much, but that is only because I have been in the Houses of Healing…" He shot what he thought to be a discreet glance at Eowyn and promptly blushed a fetching shade of crimson. (The authoress pauses while the Faramir!fangirls simultaneously coo at their 'sooper-cute Mir-mir' and scowl at Eowyn for snagging him.)

Aragorn and Gimli shared a look. Gandalf shook his head, sighing, and briefly contemplated whether to hit the younger (and now only) son of Denethor upside the head with his staff, much like he did when he was exorcising Théoden of Saruman. …Nah.

Faramir continued, his voice now more subdued. "But Minas Tirith has been taken, up till the topmost level. Is it true that the dark lord Sauron has won?"

The heroes that had been at the Last Battle exchanged glances. Sauron's gloatings rang clear in their ears. All at the same time they nodded.

OoOoOoOoOo

Both Afiiq and Haaris had finally agreed to carry Koss back to the tower of Barad-dûr. And this they did, with much grunting and hushed swearing, carrying her in between them across the Plains of Gorgoroth. And, with the power of the potent fast forward button, we are able to skip this pointless scene.

Because the line between day and night are extremely blurred in Mordor, we can only say that Koss woke up in her office a few hours later. At once, the Orc in the doorway stood to attention.

"We have caught the Shieldmaiden of Rohan and the Captain of Gondor, O' Sanity Keeper. Gondor has fallen into Lord Sauron's hands."

"That's nice. Thank you, Thrall." Koss smiled at the newly appointed Captain. Said guard had been promoted due to his speedy action at the Gates a few days back. Or what had seemed like a few days, at any rate. She changed back into her normal attire and was just lacing her Oliphaunt hide boots when an Orc knocked at her door.

"O' Iniquitous One, the Pointy Ear in the Room™ demands that he see a…_Lana_. He will not stop throttling the pretty one, either."

"Pretty one?"

"The other Elf, O' Most Bounteous and Merciful One. The brown haired one." She waved him out with orders to bring Legolas to her office.

'_Pretty_? When does an Orc use a word like _pretty_ willingly?' she thought to herself. Arda was in some serious trouble if the Servants of Sauron could be turned by a show-offy Elf. Figwit, she thought his name was. What kind of self-respecting Elf went around with a name like _Figwit_, anyway? Then again, what kind of Elf hummed his own theme song under his breath, or carefully plucked his eyebrows?

That didn't matter when she remembered what exactly the Orc had told her. Legolas had been demanding to see Lana…_Lana_…

_Lana was the daughter of Elrond. She was beautiful, with shining chocolate waves to her perfectly shaped hips. Her waist was pinched in, and her chest pushed modestly at her revealing, yet perfectly modest, gown. Her sapphire eyes surveyed the room. Elrond loved to throw feasts, and this one was in her honor. It was time she chose a husband..._

Koss suddenly had to sit down. She clutched at her head, barely suppressing a moan. It was like a herd of Trolls were trying to bash their way out of her skull. With spiked clubs.

"_My lady," Legolas said, bowing ironically to her. "Would you care to dance?" Lana accepted, and Legolas led her out onto the dance floor._

This could not be happening…this could NOT be happening…After 923 years (five months and twelve and a half days) she had almost erased all of her past…and now it had come back to haunt her…with a vengeance.

_Legolas pulled Lana towards him, and…_

"O' Malevolent Keeper of Sanity?" Koss looked up and saw the same Orc, this time with a bound and gagged Legolas in tow. She stood immediately, shaking her head to clear her mind. (Out, out evil thoughts!) She waved a hand to the Orc. "You may leave us. Stand guard outside in case I need…assistance." The Orc bowed respectfully and did her bidding, the door shutting quietly behind him.

For a few moments Koss and Legolas regarded each other in silence (except Legolas couldn't speak anyway, because of that gag in his mouth, remember?) this being the first time in 923 years (five months and twelve and a half days) either of them acknowledged what had happened in both their pasts.

Finally, Koss grabbed the gag out of Legolas' mouth. She sat in her chair and propped her feet on her desk, not bothering to offer to untie the other Elf's bonds. "You wanted something?"

He took his time answering. It was as if he was puzzled about something, the way he was looking at her, analyzing. It would have been unnerving if Koss hadn't already gotten used to Sauron staring at her in his Great Lidless Eye Wreathed with Flame mode. And you know you can outstare anyone who can't do the Look™.

"Why?" was his question finally. "Why have you turned to Sauron?"

She shrugged and gave him a bright smile. "Evil's just easier."

He was silent at this. Koss remembered something else and carefully remarked, "I hear Figwit's in town."

At once the Elf's facade became terrible to bear. Or, it would be, if Koss, again, wasn't already used to the far, far worse faces of the Nazgûl, the various SoS, as well as Sauron. But, getting on with the story, Legolas' mouth twisted into a feral snarl, and it seemed as if a black cloud of evil-ness shrouded around him. (The authoress sighs as she has to pause again, as the Gothic!Sues squeal at how hot AngstyDark!LeggyChan looks!1!) In fact, the effect was quite spoiled when the Elf of the realm of Mirkwood started coughing on said cloud of 'evil shadow'.

Koss stifled a laugh.

"But – cough – Lana - "

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "_Not_ Lana. Koss."

"What kind of a – cough - name is Koss?"

"It is my title. Keeper of Sauron's Sanity. I protect him from…Them." She grinned to herself, as fond memories of 923 years (five months and twelve and a half days) of dismembering Sues and whatnot came to the surface. Ah, the old days…

"Anyway, _Koss_, I have come here for an…offer." Legolas tried his best to look princely.

"What have you to offer me that the Ruler of Arda cannot give me on a mithril platter?" She steepled her fingers and surveyed him coolly. And it was true what she said. Sauron had already promised to give her Rivendell and Isengard to do what she would. Ah, the boundlessness…

"My services, O' Keeper of Sauron's Sanity."

Koss couldn't hold it in. She burst out laughing.

OoOoOoOoOo

Many a league away, the charred bodies of a Corsair and a Harad that had previously made up two-thirds of the Designing Team of Mordor were tossed off the citadel, much to the amusements of the guards there. Sauron's Guard, of course.

The Orc, last of the team of _Queer Orc for the Straight Orc_, kneeled in front of an incensed Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly's_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera.

"WHAT POSSESSED YOU TO ALLOW THEM TO PAINT MY _THRONE ROOM_ THIS…**HIDEOUS** COLOUR?"

"My Dark Lord, it was only to teach them a lesson. They had criticised your choice of colour scheme."

"FOOLS. IF ONLY I COULD REINCARNATE THEM AND KILL THEM ALL OVER AGAIN. AH WELL. RED AND BLACK, SRAKH. NO MORE NONSENSE. OR IT WILL BE YOU I TOSS INTO MOUNT DOOM." And Sauron, EVIL extraordinaire, stalked off impressively. Although you would agree that the effect was rather spoiled by the urple that reflected off his armour.

Srakh stifled a sigh of relief, and waved the Goblins with paint brushes over.

OoOoOoOoOo

"Are you serious?" Koss asked finally, after getting her breath back. It was rare you truly got anything ridiculous to laugh at (excluding the ludicrousness of MarySues, of course).

"My lady, I can assure you that I'm deadly serious."

Koss' eyes narrowed. "Call me 'lady' again," she said dangerously. "And I'll personally make sure that you will be castrated in the worst possible way. And abandoned in a hall of Sues, with _no_ chance of escape. No, no, scratch that. Sues first, then castration. Yes."

Legolas' eyes were wide with fear. He could see how a lady – no, not lady, darnit – had survived and gained the respect of the SoS. Koss' smile of satisfaction at his…discomfort set his teeth on edge.

"I am serious, Koss."

She sighed, and rubbed her eyes tiredly. It would be good to have another underling to boss about. And this one was an erstwhile Fellowship member. And an Elf princeling the Sues tended to go gaga over. Hmm…that last fact could be used to their advantage.

"I assume this is to one up your brother."

"Keeper of Sauron's Sanity, I have no idea what you mean."

"Very well. I shall go see the Dark Lord."

Legolas beamed. (The Fangirls squeed in delight. The Authoress growls.)

OoOoOoOoOo

"But Koss, I wanted him to be a stripper in Mordor Rouge!" Sauron whined childishly, belying his true EVIL Dark Lord-ness.

"That is all very well and good, my lord, but there are benefits. The rest of the heroes will be seriously demoralised, at the mutiny of their friend. Especially the Heir of Isildur."

"Sodding mortal," Sauron muttered but motioned her to continue. If the idea screwed up the sodding wielder of the sword of Elendil, then it couldn't be such a bad one…

Koss hid her grin, deciding it would be more professional to celebrate her success out of view and earshot of her employer. "It could also be a new method of torture for the Sues. We could have them chained up, and he could walk just out of their reach. Preferably shirtless, or something."

After a while of dallying and feeble attempts at proving he wasn't interested in the idea (when the contrary was true), Sauron finally nodded.

"The Elf Legolas of Mirkwood…will be under my service. See to his lodgings, Koss. I'm going to fry some Goblins in Mount Doom. That always cheers me up…"

OoOoOoOoOo

All the while this was happening; said Elf of Mirkwood was seated in the office of the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity. He was contemplating on what he would do to that 'prissy nancy Figwit' once he was employed by the Dark Side, so to speak.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and a few people entered. But to say 'people' would be…inaccurate. More suitable words would be along the words 'Manly Men' and 'Pretty Boys'. For that was what they were.

I will not spend time and effort (and puke) in describing each and every one of them. Suffice it to say that there was one Goth, two Elves, one punk rocker and (gasp, puke) a cowboy. Shuddertwitch.

They looked at Legolas' quizzically, and he stared right back. Who were these peoples that were allowed to roam Koss' office so? Why on Arda was one wearing scary makeup? What was the manner of weaponry that they carried? And…_why_ was one looking at him like that?

"Who are you?" Legolas was the first to break the silence. (The fangirls are silent. That is because the Authoress has laid it on them with a sledgehammer. This chapter shall go on without anymore interruptions. Praise Illuvatar.)

"My name is Eragon HarryPotter Dragon Slayer," said the pink-haired Elf. "And theseth are my compainions; Blackwolf the Beastmaster (the other Elf); Deathdeathdeath Soo E. Cide (the Goth); Artemis Alex ObiwanKenobi FowlRider Pitt (the punk rocker); and MacDonald McEggins McCheekin McSuperSize Maccers MickeyD's. (Quite obviously the cowboy.) Who areth thou?"

"I am Legolas Thranduillion of Mirkwood," the newly Dark Side-d Elf introduced himself. An ultimate mistake, as it always was. You really think he'd stop.

"OMGQ!1 Leggy! So HAWT!" The cowboy exclaimed, and made a grab for the aforementioned – or, actually, afore-screamed – Elf, knocking over his Goth companion, Deathdeathdeath Soo E. Cide, who immediately started muttering to himself about how the world hated him and how he really needed a knife right now. (**1**)

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! KOSSSSSSSSSS!"

OoOoOoOoOo

No offence to the Goths of the world. This is a parody, and I mean of everything.

Phew. I didn't like this chapter as much as the previous one. Sighums. Ah well. Thanks again to Dagniro Vanaliel for the loaning of Koss; if anyone wants more information on Koss, contact her! Also, thanks to the various authors I have borrowed components from and of course to the loverly reviewers.

Since I have gifted you with humour so ye may laugh ye hearts out, go forth my reviewers…and DIVIDE!

…Or was that multiply?

alien


	8. 07 Of Moving and Ominousness

Disclaimer: Me no own LoTR.

Warning: Slight slash (i.e. one sided OC/Leggy and some…erhem, others…), MarySues and GaryStus, as well as the usual insanity that comes with the package. Thank you for choosing Alienated Airways for your flight to Great Fanfiction. This was a message from Shameless Plugs & Overblown Egos Incorporated.

**The-third-time-in-a-row-A/N-that-is-mucho-importante**: ZOMG! YU MEANIES!1! PNLY THRE3E REVIEWSZ UP 2 DATE!11349! (It's the 19th of July, 06) I SHULD KIWL 1ONE OF TEH MAIN CHARACTH…CHARTA…MAIN PEOPLE!2132!

Just kidding. But Suethors aside, there were only three reviews which makes me sad. I would like to thank Fili for pointing out those mistakes. Is it too late to say that my beta was out of the house and I couldn't wait to update?

I suppose it is.

At any rate, enjoy this chapter, which is hopefully, for the most part, mistake-free.

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss arrived in time to see Legolas trying to hide under her office table, while a pink haired Elf and a punk rocker tried to restrain a cowboy from jumping on him. A Goth sat cross legged on the floor, trying to line his eyes with kohl without a mirror. She cleared her throat expectantly, her hand on Grond Jr. Just in case.

All activities stopped with that single action. Six males turned to look at her. Legolas was the only one who didn't drool. Koss made a disgusted face, and hoped that the spit didn't stain. But then again, the more important question was whether blood stained. And it did not, as she knew very well.

"Who are you to walk freely in Barad-dûr and…antagonise Legolas Thranduillion?" She asked dangerously. Legolas, who had already faced this terrifying tone of Koss, gulped nervously, as thoughts of Sues and castration swam in his mind. He thanked all his lucky stars he was not the one she was angry at.

"Hey, pretty baby, how ya' doin?"

"Did it hurt when you fel down from Heaven? 'Cause you must b an angel."

Koss rolled her eyes. The cheesy lines, the horrible attempts at woo-ing her, their clothes…GaryStus. She unhooked the pair of Elvish blades from her belt, the same they had confiscated from _Figwit_ (a GaryStu in his own right) and tossed them to Legolas, who caught them easily. ("Sooper kewl Elf moves," the cowboy muttered.)

Then she drew Grond Jr.

OoOoOoOoOo

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had never been to Middle Earth before in her life. Before, the Valar had just kept her safely in Valinor with her silmaril and a palantir so that she could view what was happening. And she saw all; she saw Frodo Baggins and his companions' useless quest to destroy the Ring of Power, she saw the Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed with Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, etcetera, etcetera, rise to power.

And, seeing the MarySues, she decided that something was in order. And so, without telling the rest of the Valar (because they were really just a bunch of stuffy old gods who never let her have any fun or stay up late) she grabbed her humongous sword named Rikumiku Shitzu, which was a magical sword with Japanese-y runes along the blade, and a hilt embedded with silver, gems and silver gems; a quiver full of magical Huntress arrows that only she could use, along with the bow which was a gift from Illuvatar himself, made from the bones of the now extinct sea mermaids that lived near Valinor; several daggers that were slipped into her hair, dragon-scale boots and in the bosom of her revealing, yet perfectly modest gown; her magical wand, which was nothing out of 'Harry Potter' thankyouverymuch, it was 15 inches long and had a silver star at the end, trailing attractive pink ribbons; Four lost Rings of Power, including Gandalf's Narya ; her trusty palantir and the _fourth_ silmaril. Oh, and she was physic, did I mention?

"Xena, my trusty steed, cometh forth and we shalleth journey to Middle Earth!" she cried, summoning her ride. An urplish glittery dragon burst out of the cotton candy clouds of her home in Valinor with a roar. Xena Cutesywutesy Puffy Warrior Dragon was its name, and the fact that it was actually a male dragon annoyed it to no end. Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie jumped onto the dragon's back in a single bound. She rode without a saddle of course, because although she rode side-saddle like any proper female half Maia half Elf would, the skin of her backside would not be rubbed raw riding a dragon, although bark from trees were stripped away when said dragon brushed against them. And there was no _way_ she could fall, as she was a skilled dragon tamer.

"To Minas Tirith, Xena! We musteth meet my new husbandeth! Eth!"

The dragon, wishing (and not for the first time) that he could eat the prissy little miss on his back, rolled his gold eyes and spread his wings.

OoOoOoOoOo

They made an impressive sight, the Legions of Mordor. They were on the move. This explained why a whole platoon of Orcs was given the task of carrying the Sues, each one clapped in irons (or, actually, mithrils). They (the Sues) were contained by a large cage made of the bones of previous Sues. Morbid, yes, but it was a fitting use for the skeletons.

At the head of this procession, majestic and terrible, two Mûmakil lumbered on. A makeshift throne hung between the two, and only the skill and fear of failure of the two Harad that sat atop the great Oliphaunts kept this throne in balance. And on this throne, looking very smug and very EVIL, sat Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly's_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera.

The nine and three quarters Nazgûl circled overhead. The Witch King had commandeered Jasper Darlington Higgins IV's Fell Beast (Higgins rode with No. 7) while Frodo, smallest, youngest and most inexperienced Nazgûl, got a lesson from Yomama about the duties of a Nazgûl, about how they were expected to be menacing at all times, and intimidating, and all those other words with more than three syllables. Except equestrian and vegetarianism, of course. Because everyone knows horses are smelly and vegetarians are communists. (**1**)

Koss rode on a perfectly ordinary horse. Although your ordinary farm horse probably wouldn't crush you under its hooves purposely, or give out a neigh that – being more of a scream – chilled your bones. It was a horse nonetheless, and Koss had acquired it from the previous Mouth of Sauron. Emphasis on the 'previous'. But, the only thing Koss could think about the decapitated Messenger was that it was a good thing EVIL overlords like Sauron did not bother offering his minions pointless things (to Him) like a dental plan.

She made sure Legolas was in sight at all times, lest he get ideas like freeing the 'Heroes' from their very own Sue Cage™ (there had been _a lot_ of skeletons to dispose of.). But the look on Aragorn son of Arathorn's face when he realised the Elf had supposedly joined Sauron had been priceless.

Besides, if even one Sue saw Legolas, they would all scream and try to… 'glomp' him, whatever 'glomp' was. To cut things short, all hell would break loose, and she wouldn't get to try out her new method of torture…

Minas Tirith was a sight to behold. Sauron had finally got things done his way (an angry Dark Lord and two of your partners burnt to a crisp did that to you.) and it was clear this was no longer the "White City" of Gondor. It was morbid. It was majestic, in an EVIL way. It was sinister and menacing.

'It is perfect,' thought Sauron.

It simply defied all conventional adjectives, at any rate. Such a place of EVIL could not be described in words. So most of that last paragraph did not do it any justice. But I will attempt to tell…er, write you.

First of all: it was without question the home of Sauron. Designs echoed that of Barad-dûr, except on a very much larger scale. Although it did not have gargoyles or arches or any of those human nonsense usually associated with 'witches' and 'darkness', it screamed EVIL. Almost literally. Fountains that had dotted the city had not been replaced, but even the water flowed in its own EVIL way. True, some of the fountains had lava instead of water, but that is not important.

The entire lowest level had been…changed. But to say changed seems too much an understatement. It had been transformed. It looked like Dark!Ents had gone to work. Trees sprouted between remnants of buildings. Aragorn's ranger instincts twitched. The reason for this…altered level shall remain indefinite until I see fit.

The Gondorians watched in fear from behind windows. A few brave ones came forward to stare at their new ruler upon his litter carried by five Trolls. (Of course, these few brave ones were mostly little children whose parents hadn't noticed had snuck out of the house.) The planned number had been four, but Trolls couldn't count. In fact, they could not carry out quite a number of academic related tasks, but they were quite good when you asked them to carry things or bash something up. But I digress. As usual.

When they reached the topmost level, a red carpet was laid out for the Dark Lord Sauron. (Do not fret. It was cloth dyed red with the blood with countless Sue sacrifice.) And He walked into his new City, and He sat on the throne, and He was happy.

For now.

OoOoOoOoOo

Legolas squirmed uncomfortably.

"Is this really necessary, Koss?" he asked, and rubbed his bare arms. Koss had brought him down to the dungeons, and now the both of them were standing outside the Sue Section™ (where Koss had situated the MarySues – quite obviously.) Koss with her hands on her hips, and Legolas without his tunic.

Koss sighed and, in a most patient voice, reassured him for what seemed like the fiftieth time that day. "It is a form of torture, princeling. You will walk in front of the Sues without your tunic. They will want to…well, we all know what they want." She paused for Legolas to shudder. "And, because the bars are mithril and are therefore impossible to break, even for a Sue, their efforts will be wasted."

Legolas still didn't look like he liked the idea. "I do not have a choice in the matter, do I?"

Koss smiled cheerfully. "If you disagree I will toss you into their cell. Without your leggings too."

Legolas squared his shoulders. And opened the door.

OoOoOoOoOo

By the time they had finished in the Sue Section™, Koss had laughed wickedly until her stomach hurt, and even Legolas sported an evil grin. A lone eyeball rolled behind them, yellowish orange, due to the overexertion of a Sue. Apparently, if you tried to squeeze your head between mithril bars, it really _did_ pop.

An Orc came forward and bowed. "Koss, the EVIL one wishes you honour him with your presence."

Sauron's actual words probably would have been "Get Koss here. NOW." Koss rolled her eyes. "Did the Dark Lord specify as to why he requires my being there?"

The Orc was a good one; he did not shift from foot to foot as the SoS normally did when faced with the glare of Koss. "O' Most Glorious Person of High Repute, He did not furnish me with such information. He also requests Prince Legolas Thranduillion accompany you."

"Very well," Koss said. But, just as the Orc turned away, she called him back, after getting an idea. As he called a few others of the SoS to do her bidding, she grinned evilly, and stomped on the 'fiery' eye with relish. Then she tossed Legolas his tunic and told him to look presentable.

It was mere moments later when both of them entered Sauron's new quarters. The Dark Lord had a large expanse of living space. In fact, most of the palace (**2**) was his living space, save the dungeon and Koss' main office.

The Urûk that escorted them respectfully handed over the bowl he had been instructed to carry to Sauron. Said Maia gave a Dark Lord's equivalent of a squeal of delight at discovering what the bowl contained.

"Ooh! Eyes!" He started picking out a few and popping them into his mouth like a normal person would a bunch of grapes. A bunch of grapes that had retinas, irises, nerves and whatnot, with a primary function of enabling the sense of sight. Legolas had to suppress his shudder.

"Chocolate, mmm…" You hardly ever got chocolate in Mordor; the Sues always had the wrong kind. That was a perk of living in a posh place like Gondor. And there were…blueberry flavoured ones, and strawberry flavoured ones, and dragon fruit flavoured ones (sort of a dark purply colour with tiny black spots) and black forest flavoured ones, and Turkish Delight flavoured ones, and…oh _my_…

Sauron held up one which changed colours (his favourite!), and popped it into his mouth, savouring the taste of the vitreous and aqueous humours as his pointy teeth pierced the eye, the texture of the little nerve-y things, and his favourite, the…wait, do we even _want_ to know?

"My thanks, Koss. You always know what to bring to me." It was not long before Sauron had finished his bowl of treats and turned to regard his Keeper of Sanity and the ex-representative-of-the-race-of-the-Elves-of-the-Fellowship-of-the-Ring. He steepled his fingers and appeared to study them for awhile.

Koss grew impatient. Just because Sauron was now ruler of the world did not mean he could waste her time – time spent devising ways of torturing and catching Sues (as well as the heroes they sought to besot).

Legolas tried to look as evil as he could, ignoring his inner voice (which sounded a lot like Thranduil) which was currently banging against the walls of his cranium, screaming, "You traitorous Elf! No self-respecting son of Mirkwood would turn to the Enemy and give up his friends and family!" and so on and so forth.

"I wish to go on a Sod Hunt."

Ignoring Legolas' confused "What's a 'Sod Hunt'?", Koss frowned. "My Lord, we just had a Sod Hunt _last_ month!"

Using a whiny tone Legolas would have never associated with an unspeakably EVIL Dark Lord, Sauron…well, whined. "But _Koss_, I want one! And besides, we won't have to dress up an Orc as the sodding-heir-of-Isildur! We've got the _real_ thing!"

Koss opened her mouth to argue, but paused thoughtfully. "You are right about that," she conceded. Sauron, Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly's_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera, clapped his hands gleefully and giggled. Or, sniggered EVIL-ly, which is preferred.

Especially if you wanted to remain intact and un-charred.

OoOoOoOoOo

Needless to say, Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elfstone, Thorongil, Estel, the Elessar, Strider, Longshanks, the Dunadain, wielder of the sword of Elendil, sodding-heir-of-Isil- Hey! Who messed with the script?

If one listens closely, one may be able to detect giggling. Or, actually, a better term would be EVIL sniggering. At any rate, the Authoress rolls her eyes and tries to get back with the story, hoping there are no more…interruptions.

Naturally, Aragorn (we all know his many names) was quite bewildered when he was taken from his torture – he had been tied by his ankles from the ceiling while five Sues (all of whom were chained to the _floor_) tried to grab their Gornie-kins – blindfolded, and walked to this…place. He assumed it was the lowest level of the 'White City', for there were no forests within walking distance of said city. Take that, Suethors! (The readers watch as the Authoress bashes Suethors with canon.)

And, when Strider (or Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elfstone, Thorongil, Estel, the Elessar, Longshanks, the Dunadain, wielder of the sword of Elendil, sodding-heir-of-Isildur, Gornie-kins…you get it…) knelt behind a tree to get his bearings, he could hear a fell voice in the air. No, no, that sounded too much like Legolas' line. '_Legolas_,' he thought bitterly. 'Newly under Sauron's service.' Boy, when you thought you really knew someone…

Anyway, he heard a…voice that was both terrible and scary – although Thorongil was not _scared_, do not worry – carry through the trees and shrubberies and other manner of flora in the erstwhile lowest level of the City. And this terrible and scary voice said this:

"Heeeere, sodsodsodsod…Suuuuuu-eeeeeeeeeeeeee!" (**3**)

OoOoOoOoOo

At the fringes of the lowest level, now (lovingly) dubbed the Sod Stalking Range™, stood Koss, the Nine and three quarters Nazgûl and Legolas. There were there to make sure the sod – that's Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elfstone, Strider, Thorongil, Estel, the Elessar, Longshanks, the Dunadain, wielder of the sword of Elendil, sodding-heir-of-Isildur, Gornie-kins, etc, etc, in case you hadn't realised – did not escape from their EVIL employer. You all should know who _that_ is. If not…well, prepare yourself for a brief burst of fire that shall shoot out of your screen any second now. Be smited, ignorant fool!

They were just about to separate and prowl around the fringes of the level when an extremely out of breath and scared-looking Orc burst into the clearing. It seemed that he had drawn the short straw (or sword, same thing) when the other SoS had gotten the news. He was running so that he could kill his…workmates…faster. But what happens to this Orc – and his 'workmates' – is not important. What was important was the information he carried.

"Magnificent Keeper – of Sauron's – Sanity," he panted. "I – was told – to tell you – as soon as – possible…"

Koss waited patiently while the Orc caught his breath. Her patience was evident in the way she was drumming a tattoo on the hilt of Grond Jr. Even the Nazgûl backed away from her slightly. She paid them no heed.

"It is the designer, O' Malicious Koss. Srakh. He wishes to completely redo Rivendell in yellow and silver stripes. The Dark Lord wanted you to know as soon -"

As soon as what, they did not find out, because Koss swore in a very unladylike way – but in a very Koss-like way, at any rate – and hurried off to kill that stupid Orc who dared mess with the walls of her new retreat.

Yomama nudged Pavlov. "Shire…Baggins," he suggested, in a mutter, pointing to Legolas, who wasn't looking in their direction. Pavlov raised an eyebrow, metaphorically, of course, because after you've been dead for many centuries, there is not a chance you'd still have eyebrows, even if Sauron was your lord.

Word went around the Nazgûl, and Legolas started when he looked up and saw them all…looking at him menacingly. It occurred to him that nothing stood between them and him. No Koss to protect him. And they were a lot closer than they had been a few moments before…

"Um, I'll go…escort Koss!" he said quickly, and ran off, nothing like the stately Elf prince he had been taught to be. His tutor would be turning in his grave. If, in fact, his tutor (who was a Mirkwood Elf) had died. Which is very unlikely. Because he is an Elf. Right.

The Witch King glared at the Legolas-shaped cloud that was left; so fast the Elf had been. Yomama said sadly, "Shire…Baggins."

"Yeah. He would have tasted nice."

Wordlessly, they split up to make sure the sod didn't escape. Or there'd be hell to pay. Or, actually, Sauron. Same diff.

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss felt very happy when she left Rivendell. Of course, that was after she disposed of Srakh's now mangled body in the River. The Goblins and other manner of creatures that worked under the former designer of 'Queer Orc for the Straight Orc' did not need to be told twice to know what would happen to them if they even _thought_ of changing the colour scheme.

She had initially been surprised that Legolas had followed her, but then, she hadn't actually realised when he had arrived. She had been too busy beating sense into Srakh's head. With Grond Jr.

Anyway, the both of them headed back to their superior's headquarters. His _new_ headquarters, at any rate. It took them a few weeks to reach, and that was pushing their horses to the limit. That, and the fact that no one dared challenge them. Apparently, Koss' reputation preceded her, although she did not know how they knew what she actually looked like. Maybe it was the unspeakable aura of EVIL that hung around her. Or it could have been the way she killed the Sue that dared get in her way at the border of Rohan.

But, when they had arrived at the plateau that was the Fields of Pelennor, both stopped. Or, rather, Koss stopped in horror, and Legolas had to rein his horse sharply so as to not bowl into her and suffer slow death. Minas Tirith had…changed.

Almost as suddenly as she stopped, Koss had her horse at full gallop, and left Legolas blinking in the dust. He shook his immaculate hair and followed, wondering what in Illuvatar's name had happened.

At the gate, Koss' misgivings grew. Upon seeing her, they grabbed her and held her hands behind her back. She scowled, wishing she had not strapped Grond Jr onto her saddle quite so securely. But, come on, it is not comfortable riding a Mordor horse at full gallop while a mace bounced against your hip.

Legolas started to draw his knives when another guard yanked the Elf off his horse and held a sword at his throat. He – Leggy, of course – gave Koss a worried and seemingly terrified look. She however, snarled at her captor.

"I am Koss! What is the meaning of this? Where is Lord Sauron? I will personally make sure you get killed as soon as I tell him -"

Unwisely, the guard cut her off. "The Dark Lord Sauron has ordered this."

She was about to retort and attempt to subdue – and here, subdue is just a polite word – her captor when she realised the glazed look in his eyes. Looking around, she saw they _all_ had it. The glazed look, I mean. This could not be good. "We will go quietly," she said, ignoring Legolas' look of confusion.

They were brought up on foot. Koss made a disgusted sound as they passed through the first level. Previously, the Sod Stalking Range™ had been an ominous and dark forest, filled with traps and other things that the military of real Earth would salivate over. Now…it was filled with sunlight, fairies giggling on toadstools and squirrels gambolling in the trees. Legolas thought he might have seen a pink, glittery unicorn, but then he thought confusedly, 'What in the Valar's name is a unicorn?' (**4**)

And the rest of the levels...There were huge neon signs, but this is lost on both Koss and Legolas because neither knew what on Middle-Earth neon – or even electricity – means. The signs screamed 'Tiffany' and 'Gap' and other nonsensical names. "I thought the Gap was in Rohan?" Legolas murmured to Koss. She could only shrug. Already things were adding up in her brain, and she only needed one more thing to come to the obvious conclusion. One she hoped wasn't true.

They were finally brought to the Hall, and she relaxed seeing Sauron on his throne. "My Lord -"

She noticed the way he seemed to stare at a point slightly above her shoulder when she called him. She noticed his eyes – glazed, like all the guards. She noticed the cape he was wearing, and remembered his speech all those years ago how capes were not Dark-Lord-ey when Nazgûl No.6 tried to get him to wear one. She noticed the horrible dreamy-looking smile on his lips. Sauron never smiled. Never. Ever.

But most of all, Koss noticed the figure beside him, whose hand rested on the Dark Lord's shoulder, a sign of familiarity Sauron NEVER gave anyone. With dread, she looked up…into Her eyes. Her horrible pink anime-style eyes.

A giggle. "Helloeth. I ameth Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie." She paused for effect. "_Wife_ of Sauron."

OoOoOoOoOo

**(1)**From Boston Legal. Which I do not own either.

**(2)**You know…that whole white building place on the topmost level…

**(3)**It's like how they call pigs in them farms. 'Suuuuu-eeey!'

**(4)**Get it in your head, Suethors. THERE ARE NO UNICORNS, PIXIES, MERMAIDS, ETC IN MIDDLE EARTH! DEAL WITH IT!

Ah. Finally finished. I can tell you I enjoyed this chapter and will enjoy the ones to come. Why? Well, I know what's going to happen, and you don't! So keep reading and reviewing so that I can update faster!

Love and MarySue heads on a plate,

alien

P.S. I want to thank Allergic to Paradox for the new titles for Sauron which I will most definitely have ready by next chapter – whenever that will be. (Shifty eyes.) At any rate, I still want titles for Sauron, and _now_, I want titles for everyone and anyone else…primarily the sodding-heir-of-Isildur (we all know who _that_ is), Leggy-chan and Figwit. Have fun, readers! And, don't forget, alliteration is key!


	9. 08 Minas Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie

Warning: Nothing to warn you about in this chapter. Except the Valar!Sue. But I expect you all know that already.

Disclaimer: I don't own J.R.R. Tolkein. It all belongs to LoTR. …Wait.

Hello, my dutiful readers! I love you! Seven reviews, and it's only been one day. Although, that won't mean I'm actually going to update now. But I feel like I owe you people an explanation, so here goes:

The reason I updated so late the last time was because…of ffnet. Seriously. I could not upload the document. Forgive me! On the upside, that was my longest chapter, and I can honestly say it will get better. Or would it be worse…?

(Evil cackling laugh, rivalled only by the annoying gigglegiggletwittersnort of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie.)

OoOoOoOoOo

_A giggle. "Helloeth. I ameth Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie." She paused for effect. "Wife of Sauron."_

She paused for a second, while Sauron let out an extremely un-Sauron-like sigh of lovey dovey ness. Then she added, "But thee can calleth me Chloe."

Legolas Thranduillion, Prince of Mirkwood, Elf-boy, Winner-of-drinking-contests-with-dwarves, Koss' Pet, Emissary of the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood, Killer-of-Mûmakil, Torturer of Sues (ToS), Delight of the Fangirls, Traitor Extraordinaire, and so on and so forth, (**1**) was still trying to figure how 'Chloe' was a acronym of Ravarastwinklietoecutiepie, or whatever her name had been, when said Sue spotted him. But because she was a Valar!Sue, she had more self control than the others (relatively speaking) and so did not scream "Legyy!1!" and glomp the blonde Elf. Although Koss could have sworn she could hear Ravara – Chloe – squeal under her breath…if that's even possible.

The Sue signalled to the guards, who widened their glazed eyes to bask even more in the glory of her unchallengeable beauty. "Taketh Legg – _the Elf_ – to the others." And, for good measure, she said, "Verily forsooth." Both guards had listened raptly to her orders, much like a connoisseur would a Mozart or Beethoven in normal Earth. They dragged the protesting prince of Mirkwood to…wherever the 'others' were.

Koss did not watch as her protégé – of sorts – was hauled away. She was waiting until the guards that held her let their guard down – pardon the horrible pun. But it seemed that this Sue, who was potent enough to bewitch Sauron (as well as everyone else), did not forget that she did not want Koss to escape. Sauron's Keeper of Sanity was momentarily blinded when Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie parted ruby red cherub lips shaped like petals (Picture a ten cubic centimetre syringe of collagen injected into said body part.) to reveal a shiny row of perfect white teeth. You could almost hear the "_ting_" they usually have in all those toothpaste advertisements. Neither of which exists in Middle-Earth, so I am digressing again.

"What is youreth nametheth?"

Koss was pretty fluent in Bad!Shakespearean due to years of on-the-job experience, and her internal translator immediately deciphered the mangled olden prose. She knew it would not be wise to inform _Chloe_ that she worked as the killer of Sues; she would be whisked off to death by furry pink monkeys, or something to that degree. Instead, she curtsied the best she could – in leggings and while being held prisoner, no less – and bowed her head slightly; hoping her acting skills could fool this Sue.

"My Lady, I am but a humble servant for Lord Sauron. I have only ever been in his service. My name is…Lana." She was loathe to say it, but Koss knew it had to be done. She would gain the trust of this Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, and then she would kill her in the messiest way possible.

The Sue clapped her hands delightedly. "Ooh-eth! A servant girl! Thee-eth shall being mine handmaiden. Let her goeth, prithee, good sir guards!"

Koss was starting to get a headache, what with all the horrible Shakespearean and the fact that she could understand every word. The guards did, however, let her go, and then happily stared at Ravarastwinke – Chloe – until she waved an arm imperiously for them to leave.

The Sue wrapped her arms around Sauron's neck, and planted a kiss on his cheek. Or what she assumed was his cheek, anyway. Koss' paled when she saw the goofy grin the Dark Lord sported, and the blank way he seemed to stare at Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie. Her horror mounted when Koss distinctly heard them exchange declarations of love, and… 'Honey-bunnies' and 'sugar-bear' and other odd combinations of animals and saccharine confectionary, all of which left Koss nauseated.

It did not make her feel any better when Chloe turned to her and clapped her hands in delight. "We'll get thee all fitted upeth!"

In fact, it made Koss feel a whole lot worse.

OoOoOoOoOo

It seemed that the new Empress of the World had released her Sue sisters, and Koss saw many milling around aimlessly around the City. Apparently, because Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was the most powerful Sue lyk, evah, she had decreed the heroes her property. This explained why most of the previously captured Sues were out roaming Middle-Earth, to ensnare pretty Elves of their own. Maybe more than one each.

As for the beauties – sorry, monstrosities – that stayed? They were hunting for the 'biotch' with the 'big heavy weapon thingy' who had put them in prison in the first place. They had stopped Koss a few times to ask for directions. Koss was thankful to Chloe for the change of clothes; they made her unrecognisable.

Actually, scratch that. She hated Chloe for the change of clothes. Why? Well, how would _you_ like being forced into wearing a horrible monster of a dress, which was all lace, and silk, and frills, and lace, and sashes, and some other word for lace, and faux fur? The hem of the dress was just above her knee. Or actually, since the hem was ripped 'artistically', the longest gash of fabric was just above her knee.

Her hair, which, prior to the arrival of the uber Sue, had been styled in a braid that reached her knees, now resembled that of Princess Leia when she is first glimpsed in Star Wars 4: 'A New Hope' with the two twisted buns on each side of her head. Of course, Koss did not use this particular analogy, because Star Wars didn't exist in Middle Earth. No, it existed a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

The Authoress has a faraway look in her eye as she subconsciously hums the Star Wars theme song, which, when you get down to it, is quite similar to the theme song of one GaryStu brother of Legolas. But that is sidetracking, and we really must get on with the story.

Koss winced each time she saw a change, which was quite often. She had made all the Orcs take baths (the blasphemy!) and, even more shockingly, the Orcs readily did. Hell, all the SoS looked _cleaner_ and more presentable, if that is even possible. Disturbingly, Koss noticed a large majority of the Servants of Sauron had taken to wearing leggings with flared bottoms, and large pendants all featuring an odd symbol. They even sat around in circles beating drums and chanting.

For the first time in years, (counting all that time in Mordor, of course) Koss saw the full beauty of the sun. Or, at least, how Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie saw the beauty of the sun. The sky was a clear sky blue (the Authoress rolls her eyes) and the golden eye that was the sun winked at the inhabitants of Middle Earth like a huge gem in the middle of a cerulean ocean, albeit a sea devoid of white waves. Sickening metaphors aside, the absence of clouds was not a deterrent to the 'happy frolicking' of the peoples of Middle Earth despite the temperature that came with it. Had Koss come from modern Earth, she would have made some snide comment about the ozone layer and global warming.

At any rate, she just squinted up at the huge ball of flame in the sky, and wondered if the Orcs could survive the direct sunlight. What about Sauron? Had the Dark Lord seen what had happened to his own kingdom?

_Obviously not_, she thought sourly. _Since he only has eyes for 'Chloe'._ But later Koss would try to get some sense out of the Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly's_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera. (Also snookums and honeybear and fluffyheart and sweetiedarlingbabydear and lovedearestbeloved and sugarpreciouspet and babe and Sauron-kinny-poosie and…)

She was brought back to earth – or Middle Earth, if you want to get all snippy about it – when the sickly, syrupy voice of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie broke into her thoughts.

"Annouceth my presence. Etheth."

OoOoOoOoOo

'Where is Legolas?' I hear you cry? Okay, so that was the Sues and Leggy!fanciers, but it all amounts to the same thing in the end. The traitorous Elf was dragged up twelve flights of stairs – wait, _how_ many? – to a large room near, he was informed, the Lady's quarters. Actually, to say he was dragged was too erroneous a word. He was carried by six Gondorian soldiers on a litter heaped with linen sheets and pillows, while a seventh guard jogged next to them, bearing a tray of refreshments.

Said large room was dimly lit, as the windows were covered in translucent cloth that seemed to tint the place in different colours. Heavy rugs were thrown haphazardly across the floor and tapestries of no apparent taste adorned the walls. Silk pillows not unlike the ones he had sat on before were not arranged in any order. Some were currently occupied by sprawling bodies. Bodies which, he realised with a groan, he knew.

But, after a few moments in which the Mirkwood prince stood frozen in his place – expecting his erstwhile friends to jump, strangle and maim him, not necessarily in that order – it was evident that they were in no shape to even recognize him. Each and every one of them had a glazed look in their eyes, much like the ones the guards sported. With a start he realised each and every one of them wore an odd assortment of clothing –

"Announcing her royal Valar-ness, Empress of Middle Earth, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie," came a voice from behind him. He whirled around.

And started drooling.

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss had had her misgivings once she saw the huge doors from a distance. It had nothing to do with the fact that technically, there was no such architecture in the whole of the White City, because there weren't twelve storeys in the citadel. It had nothing to do with the strings of penny sized mirror pieces that hung from the ceiling like some sort of reflective curtain. It had nothing to do with the giant sign that hung outside the door, where "heart – HAREM – heart" was written in pink lipstick. Of course not.

Nothing would have prepared her for the sight that greeted them as soon as the doors swung open impressively with naught a sound. All the heroes (excepting Gandalf the Grey, Gimli son of Gloin, and Eowyn, Shieldmaiden of Rohan.) were assembled in the room, and every single one of them seemed to be drooling and staring at something behind her. Ah, that would be Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, then.

This was not the worst part. Only Legolas looked presentable in his sensible travel clothes he had donned before leaving Rivendell with Koss. But the others…they were clad in what could only be described as the normal attire of belly dancers in Modern Earth. The material of their…costumes…was diaphanous and sparkly, and offered little modesty. The only cover was the belt of beads that hung low on their hips. Beads which, with every little movement, clattered and slid against each other.

The glazed look was quite obvious in their eyes, even, she realised with alarm, Legolas, who had been, moments ago, very sane. Or sane enough, in any case. Every single one of them was gaping at Chloe. Obviously this was a powerful Sue, to ensnare the main characters as well as the rest of the White City. Maybe even the rest of Middle Earth. Koss had to suppress a shudder at that thought.

She tuned back in to attend to the speech Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was now delivering to the harem members. "Aseth memberes of my haremeth – of thy own free willeth, of course – thee areth expectheth to serveth me witheth the utmost commitment and enthusiasmeth. And theeth shalleth start serving meeth…_now._"

Koss was out of the door once the Sue had said 'serveth'.

OoOoOoOoOo

Things did not get better with the absence of the Sue. People, now momentarily without the attention of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie – and without the orders – milled about pointlessly, staring into space. None of them responded to anything she did. And she had already kicked two in the shins, broken someone's nose, shouted, and patiently tried to get a reaction by use of Logic, all to no effect, visible or otherwise. So she did not get her hopes up too high when she came to Sauron.

The Dark Lord sat on his throne, dazedly smiling up at the urple banners that hung from the ceiling. They quite matched the rest of the urple furniture. With trepidation, Koss approached The Anti-Valar (**2**), perched precariously on his seat.

"My Lord?"

Instantly Sauron's head snapped up, and maybe for a split second there was a glimmer of recognition. But his eyes clouded over with disappointment soon after. "You aren't my lovey-kins…" he murmured disconsolately. He then paused for all of five seconds before launching himself into her arms and bawling like a newborn.

"I miss her so much! I don't even know where she's gone! And she always takes so long to come back! And I can't help but think she's seeing someone else! I mean, it's not as if she can't get anyone else, she's really beautiful and everything, but I wish she'd trust me enough to tell me or something, because I don't mind having an open relationship, and I _did_ get her that Ring, and – "

"What? What Ring?" Koss asked, alarmed. She was sure her upper arms would have bruises from the way Sauron was gripping them. Did it help that his fingers were razor sharp? No. No it did not.

"The Ring. You know, One Ring to rule them all, and all that jazz…that was her engagement Ring…she was kind of disappointed it wasn't diamond, but then I told her it could control the whole of Middle Earth, and she liked that, so she said yes, and that was the happiest time of my life. No, wait, the happiest time of my life was when we actually got married. No, wait, the happiest time of my life was the _night_ of our wedding, when we retreated to our bedchambers and – "

She definitely did not need to hear this bit. She pushed Sauron upright, effectively cutting of the Dark Lord's ramblings. Koss backed away from her employer, worried he might do something else that would further prove his absence of Sanity. With a start she realised she had failed her primary mission.

"You just, eh, stay here, there's a good Sauron. I'll go see if I can get Chloe down here."

"And don't forget to tell her how much I miss her! And I love her!" Sauron called, and then blissfully went back to staring at the sunshine streaming in through the windows, the fey urple light casting a glow around the armour of the half-Maia. Koss hurriedly closed the doors on the sight.

Maybe the Ringwraiths.

OoOoOoOoOo

No. Scratch the Ringwraiths.

Koss had searched high and low for the previous Kings of Men (and the one Hobbit Ringbearer) and had finally found them in the third floor corridor, the 'Forbidden Corridor' (again I walk the fine line between fandoms…) that she had previously overlooked. Exactly why it was forbidden soon dawned on her. Do not worry, it has nothing to do with oversized Cerberus dogs or evil megalomaniacs attached to the back of someone else's head.

"You all got it? Let's take it from the top!"

Her mouth gaped open unattractively as she saw all nine and three quarter Nazgûl dressed as they were. Clad in pink, lacy numbers, these particular Servants of Sauron would only strike fear in the hearts of people allergic to pink-ness and cute-ness and other such things. Currently, they were in various positions in the little hall situated in the Third Floor Corridor.

"Ah one, ah two, ah one, two, three…five!"

_We're Wraiths! We're Wraiths!_

_We're all clad in lace!_

'_Cause of Lady Chloe,_

_And her fantastic face?_

_Nine and three quarters,_

_That is our number,_

_Do not mistake us for porters,_

_For a grudge, we remember!_

_Erstwhile Kings of Man are we,_

_Except one, a Hobbit is he,_

_Serving Sauron is what we do best,_

_And the word best rhymes with zest!_

_Ringwraiths are the most excellent!_

_Shire…Baggins!_

_Ringwraiths are the best!_

_Shire…Baggins!_

_Ringwraiths are full of excrement!_

_Shire..._Baggins?

"Alright, who messed up the bloody script again?"

OoOoOoOoOo

For the first time since…well, a long time, Koss felt…helpless. Wait, no that cannot be right. Helplessness implied vulnerability, when she was anything but. She just lacked…help. None of the SoS could assist her in regaining stability and order, as much as you can call a reign by Sauron stability and order.

The 'heroes' had turned into a bunch of ninnies (heh, not much change _there_) who lived and breathe Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie. Sauron had turned into a Chloe-dependant junkie, unable to survive five seconds without declarations of love towards his Sue-wife. The Nazgûl had become the musical chorus, and as for the rest of the SoS; they were like the rest of the world, unable to anything but what Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had set out for them.

"Lana1!"

La- I mean, _Koss_ – groaned quietly and turned to the stairs, where Chloe was descending from majestically. Half formed thoughts that wondered _how_ Chloe had finished doing what she had been doing were met with an inward flinch and then stuffed away into some deep dark corner of Koss' mind.

It occurs to me that I have yet to fully describe Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie. And without further ado, I shall do so, ignoring your plaintive cries of despair. But what can I say? An Authoress lives for nothing except writing and torturing readers. (and **REVIEWS**!) Erhem.

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was born of a union between a Maia and a powerful Elf in Valinor. And through this odd and thoroughly unlikely matrimony, she had gained many physical attributes that were unique. Her ears were delicate and pointy, showing her Elf heritage, as did the graceful way she walked. Her hair was black as midnight and had totally natural highlights of red. It was left to hang loose, so that it reached her ankles in a totally normal, no-extensions length.

She was petite, but somehow tall, again confirming her Elf inheritance. She was had well defined muscles, but they did not make her look bulky; instead, they made her look lean, because of her already slim figure. Her totally modest dress hinted at her bosom, which was nothing less than a D-cup; far from making her look like a stick with two melons stuck on the front, this looked so very completely natural.

Her eyes were said to be her most intriguing feature. They were large and round, framed with dark eyelashes and perfectly natural shaped eyebrows. They were the colour of the most perfect pink gems although it is practically impossible to have that particular eye colour. They would change colour depending on her mood; a dark red when she was angry; a deep mauve when she was happy; the lightest shade of pink when she was ardent with ardour, for lack of a better word.

Now the owner of these perfect twin orbs of pink smiled at Koss, revealing teeth that could have been coated with diamonds, what with the shine that was exuded from them. "Come, Lana, now that I haveth finishedeth my worketh – " Koss gave a derisive snort – "I haveth an announcementh to maketh to my peopooleth."

And so they walked to the Courtyard that overlooked the White City (Koss noticed the absence of the statue of Sauron, it being replaced with one of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie holding up two fingers in the shape of a 'Peace' sign) and Koss saw that the whole of the City had already gathered below and were cheering, waving banners and such. Confetti streamed down, from where, it was unknown.

"My peepooleth!" A cheer from the 'peepooleth'. "I haveth listened to thy requestes and will now granteth it! And so noweth, sinceth thy demand it, I haveth changeth the name of this Cityeth, from Minas Tirith to…

"Minas Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie! Or, Minas Chloe for short!"

The cheers were deafening. Koss gaped at Chloe, who was waving benevolently at the peoples as if she had done them a favour, and the people who acted as if she had indeed done well by renaming their ancient City. Not bothering to stifle her Orcish profanity (it wasn't as if anyone could hear, or indeed, understand her.) the first this Koss did was to grab an Orc and kill it. With her bare hands.

It helped with the frustration. Just barely.

OoOoOoOoOo

You people were lovely with the titles. Sad to say, the titles suggestions box will have to be closed down, lest half the chapter be taken up by them. And that would not do, precious, not at all.

Like the term used for one Napoleon Bonaparte, 'Anti-Christ', except since Jesus and Christianity does not belong in Middle Earth, this has been modified. Thanks to Allyp.

And so ends my chapter. Since you can no longer suggest titles for the 'heroes', I am now accepting ways to kill Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, because, hey, you can never have enough creative ways of dismembering Sues. Whee!

Review, don't forget, or I'll sic Ravara on you!

alien.


	10. 09 Shewhosenamegrowspinkflowers

To all my reviewers, I give you 2 million Bop-Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's-Head-For-Free Cards. Because one time just ain't enough™.

Disclaimer: LoTR bukan kepunyaan saya, tetapi kepunyaan J.R.R. Tolkein. (Look that one up…or ask me in a review XD)

Warning: Did I not warn you about the Valar!Sue countless times before? I think this time I'll just warn you that if, and only if, you do NOT review, I will find you, and dunk you in Leggy scent, and set Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie out into the world. Doomed you will be, whatever gender you are. Get it?

This warning is rather spoilt by the fact that I am grinning widely by the support you guys have shown. Yayness. We've passed the 50 barrier, let's go for 100! (Stars in Authoress' eyes.)

And, without further ado, your self-induced torture/pleasure.

OoOoOoOoOo

MarySues (and their male counterparts) are fickle creatures. That is to say, they are only interested in power and pleasure. Perfection, to them, is something only they can attain, supremacy is something only they are worthy of. Once they desire something, or, most commonly, someone, they will go to no ends to get it. And, most of the time, they succeeded. But, if it is one thing a MarySue hates, it is another MarySue. They are viewed as competition, and therefore must be eradicated ASAP, most commonly by bitch-slapping or public humiliation by means of stealing the adversary's private email sessions and reading them out loud for everyone to hear and laugh at. You get what I mean.

But, every so often, Sues do band together, especially if there is a 'biotch' with a 'big heavy weapon thingy' threatening their immediate subsistence. But there are still internal battles, for from time to time, a (particularly) stupid Sue will try to attain control of the bevy, and will, invariably, fail. The point that I wish to get across is that there is no such thing as a Leader among the Sues. It was do or die, the latter often the case when you've got people like Koss around.

And, yet, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was quite happily ruling away, and no Sue dared to comment. Quite odd, seeing as they (the Sues and the Stus) were still in their right frame of mind, i.e. still going about their business of ensnaring helpless pretty people to whine to/brag their fighting prowess/fulfil their lust/angst to/etc. As opposed to pretty much the rest of Arda, that is, reduced to staring off into space, maybe drooling slightly, unless you had a specific task set in mind by Chloe.

The MarySues and GaryStus clearly outnumbered the Empress of the Sues, but not one dared oppose her. Surely their numbers could defeat a demigod. If only someone were to somehow weaken Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, somehow plant these seeds of doubt and rebellion in the minds of the Sues, then maybe…

Just maybe…

OoOoOoOoOo

Around fifty assorted corpses lay heaped around Koss, including Orcs, Goblins, Men, Sues, and even a Troll. Every single one was quite bewildered by their loss of life, although that particular train of thought, or _any_ train of thought, for that matter, would be quite cut short. They had achieved mortality in many creative ways, including strangulation, spinal cord twisting, and (my personal favourite) garrotting by means of Sue hair. What other use would ankle length, conditioner-fortified hair be good for?

This had calmed her down somewhat, but it did not make the sudden appearance of Chloe any more welcome. The Co-Ruler of Middle-Earth clapped her hands to her mouth and gave an almighty gasp of surprise and disgust (which sounded a lot like the primary sound emitted by Sues; a squeal). Koss eyed her warily, and, as an afterthought, hid her bloody hands behind her back. After another second of deliberation, she wiped them on her dress. It wasn't as if it was that much of a loss.

"Hwhat on Eartheth happetnh hereth?" Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie cried. "My peepooleth! Alleth dead! O', trully these is a greateth trad – trag – tradgerdy!" And, really, it was. Koss would have been _much_ more satiated if Chloe had been the one dead on the ground.

Quick thinking yielded this answer: "Oh, they insulted your hair and your wardrobe, so I had them executed," Koss said, smiling hopefully. "Eth," she added, for good measure. You never knew what a well-placed 'eth' could get you out of.

"Oh. Taht's allrighteth then." Chloe shrugged happily and flipped her hair over her shoulder, and in the process, knocked over one of her stalkers who had – rather unwisely – been standing just behind her. She did not even turn around, and instead tapped her finger against her cherub lips in a pondering manner. Then she snapped her pianist digits as if remembering something. "Lana, be a deary andeth Goethe dowbn 2to theth kitchen. Plez telleth the head cooker that I ownly can eateth these." She handed Koss a sheet of paper – hot pink, and all the 'i's were dotted with little hearts – and then left in a flurry of hair and scent.

Koss felt her jaw slowly drop as she read the contents of the page. It went something like this:

_Liste of Eatable Thinges._

_Low-Fat Lembas_

_Fat-Free Foie Gras _(**1**)

_Sparkling Watere_

_Mallorn Salad _(**2**)

_Pizza (_This one had apparently been crossed out hurriedly)

_Crébain Cake_

_(Illegible)_

_Signed, _

(Insert squiggly line that _looks_ mysterious and t3h kewl)

_Her Imperial Majesty Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, Queen of Arda, Chatelaine of the Citadel, Empress of Minas Chloe _(**3**)_, Ruler over all from the Sea of Rhûn to the Gulf of Lune, from the Northern Waste till Far Harad, Spawn of Rabid Fangirls of Real Earth Not That She Knows, Shooter of Ice-Beams, Owner of the Fourth Silmaril, Wife to Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of Dark Lord Weekly's All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera._

Koss strained her eyes to see what the last item on the 'Liste' had been. It was either 'Fissssh' or 'French Fries', the latter of which she had no idea about. She sighed; it was obvious she would have to go down to the kitchens sooner or later. The kitchens…where all the food was…

The kitchen, where the poisons were kept…

The kitchen, where a careless hand could let slip a drop…maybe a whole bottle full…

Koss' EVIL grin widened as she took a detour to her office, untouched by the Sue-ness. She rifled through her papers; the Witch King had given her a piece of paper, on it the instructions of a method Koss had been unwilling to try before, because Mordor did not have skilled cooks. The Orcs that made up the chefs of Barad-dûr thought that gourmet dining was a sprig of whatever weed they could find (parsley was understandably not available) stuffed into whatever carcass they were having. But now…

OoOoOoOoOo

"Cookies of Doom™(**4**)?" The little Hobbit raised his eyebrows at Koss. That is to say, the Head Cook of Minas Tirith – sorry, Minas Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie – raised his eyebrows at Koss. She had initially been surprised he had risen through the ranks so fast, but then realised that the Hobbit had a spirit aided by a frying pan and a cleaver.

"Yes. It is an old family recipe. The Dark Lord Sauron loves them, and no doubt his – " she was loathe to say it – "Bride will too." Her eyes flickered around the room, where various kitchen help stood around motionless. No doubt that they would soon be bustling about busily to make foodstuff for their Queen.

"Bride? You mean Mrs. Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie?" Sam asked, his eyes shining, much like they did when someone mentioned Mr. Frodo in the past. He skimmed the recipe in his hands. It did not seem _too _difficult. 1 ½ litre Sue Spit™...3 Shiny Sue Things™ (also known as SueVenirs™)...1 litre Sue Blood™...8 decilitre flour...4 decilitre sugar...3 bars of chocolate (taken from the Sue in question)...½ teaspoon salt...Anti-Sue™ Potion…dirty Orc laundry water(optional)…

_Warning: Treat the Sue Spit with caution, as it's highly acidic!_

1. Smash the SST (Shiny Sue Things) into dust. The more vehemence you do this with, the better. Melt the chocolate bars in the Sue Spit.

2. Mix the Sue Blood and sugar and pour it into a steel cauldron - Sues only like gold and silver. Add flour and salt as well as the SST dust. Wait until the chocolate mixed with Sue Spit turns brown (this may take a while) before adding it as well. Stir in a counter-clockwise motion until all the ingredients have mixed well. (This won't take long.)

3. Now we will move onto the Anti-Sue Potion, which you should have mixed together before trying to make the COD. (That should teach you to read through magical recipes before trying them!)

Anti-Sue Potion:

Blood from an Anti-Sue, willingly given (not much is needed)  
1 litre water  
White sage  
3 cinnamon sticks (for taste)

1. Mix the blood with the water in your cauldron and bring it to a boil. While you wait for this to happen, do as follows:

2. Take the white sage, burn it and walk in a counter-clockwise circle around the cauldron while chanting:

"I banish you, wicked, wicked Sue  
I banish everything you've brought with you  
Loneliness shall be your only friend  
The Power of Logic™ shall be your end!"

_Waving the egg-beater above your head and kicking out your left leg every seventh step is optional._

3. Repeat this over and over until you've finished your third circle. Smash the cinnamon sticks into dust, add to the boiling water, then stir in a counter-clockwise circle while repeating the chant once.

4. Here comes the most important part: After the chant has ended, you must bring up all your anger, resentment and disgust towards all Sues. Feel it clearly and strongly, and picture it as a ball of black energy inside you. Imagine yourself bringing it out and into the potion, then repeat the chant, stirring once more in a counter-clockwise motion. You should be finished with the potion by then, so put out the fires beneath it and pour it into the vials with harmless-looking elves carved into the glass. (This way, no Sue will suspect them for what they contain.)

Now, back to the cookies:

4. Add the potion, then stir in a counter-clockwise motion. Again, pour out all your anger, resentment and disgust (but don't shape it into a ball this time) while you repeat the chant 13 times.

5. When this is finished, take some Blessed Salt™ from my cabinet and draw a circle around you and the cauldron. Call upon the power of Morgoth to shape the cookies, then lie down on the ground (within the boundaries of the circle) and go to sleep, dreaming sweet dreams about destroyed and/or dismembered Sues. (Always remember to bring a pillow!)

6. When you wake up, the cookies should be finished.

P.S. (Licking the cauldron would be a bad idea!) 

He blinked as he tried to figure out exactly what was that niggling feeling at the back of his head, telling him that something, _something_, was wrong. But at Koss' fingers impatiently tapping a tattoo on the tabletop, he shook his head. "Can it be done, head cook?" the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity asked.

Sam, the Hobbit, dearest companion of Frodo Baggins (before he turned into Nazgûl 9 ¾, at any rate) nodded. "It can be done. But I will need your help..."

OoOoOoOoOo

Exactly two hours and a pint of Ravaratwinkletoecutiepie's blood later ("We're just testing you don't have some kind of, lyk, allergic reaction), Koss emerged from the kitchens with a tray bearing the most alluring and most lethal batch of cookies. The Cookies of Doom™ wafted an aroma that made you feel like dying, not because it smelt ghastly, but because you felt too undeserving for such a delicacy. But MarySues, however, perfection personified (according to them, anyway) would never, ever feel inferior to this batch of biscuits. And that was the infallible part of the plan. Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie would not be able to resist, what with the heart-shaped sprinkles on top.

Koss somehow found the Self-Made Empress of Arda in the newly installed Jacuzzi on the fifth floor. This fact didn't bother Koss so much, due to the fact that Sauron had – on occasion – soaked in pools of Lava when they had been situated in Mordor – before he was forced into the form of the giant fiery Eye. But Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's Jacuzzi Room, besides the distinct lack of thousand degree molten lava, differed only in the fact that various heart – HAREM – heart members were also present, and what they were doing underwater without any trace of bathing suits was NOT something Koss wanted to speculate about, unless she wanted to lose her breakfast.

"Your greatest Majesty Chloe, I have come bearing treats from the Head Cook," she called, not looking anywhere except the uber-Sue's face. She was just thankful that there was enough steam rising from the pleasantly warm water to sufficiently impair vision, much like a very thick haze, enough steam to mask any unclothed bodies and whatever positions they were currently in.

"Eh…just oneth minute minuteth, my deareth Lana…" Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie called out, and Koss ducked out of the room before anything happened that would seriously jeopardise the condition of her own sanity. Some time later – but definitely more than a minute minuteth – Chloe emerged, this time fully clothed. As much as one can be fully clothed in the lace-and-fishnet ensemble she had on. Let's not forget the leather boots. _Those_ have to count for at least something.

Koss took in Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's Gothic outfit with a disdainful eye before thrusting the tray under Chloe's nose. She could have sworn that there was a twitch in the ValarSue's left cheek, the only sign of imperfection in her perfectly most perfectest heart-shaped, blemish-less, faultless, flawless, picture perfect, unspoiled etc face. But of course she must have imagined this, for Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie knew not the meaning of imperfection. (Okay, she didn't know the meaning of many other words, but let's just skim over that fact.)

"What areth theseth, Lana?" Chloe asked imperiously, though the effect was rather spoiled by the fact that she sounded like her mouth was full of drool. So her sentence was more like: "Wghat aretgh theeggtet, Llana?" But Koss got the general gist.

"Cookies, my lady," Koss explained with a bright smile. "The Dark Lord Sauron has one every morning and they make him especially powerful. I thought that, since you are so much _more_ powerful than he, you should eat a whole batch!" As an afterthought, she added, "Plus, their totally non-fat."

The glint of greed was obvious in Chloe's morganite (**5**) eyes. "Nogt fateth?" She swallowed heavily, and at Koss' nod of confirmation, squealed with delight. A clawed hand – of which the fingernails were a ghastly white-with-pink-hearts – swiftly seized a few Cookies of Doom™, said cookies disappearing into the Sue's wide mouth.

Koss patiently waited until Chloe had finished every single one – never once proffering, but Koss doubted she would have accepted such an offer at any rate – but the uber-Sue remained upright, and, most disappointingly, alive. She watched, with growing displeasure, as Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie licked a few stray chocolate chips off her fingers.

"Do you…feel anything, your majesty?" Koss asked. When the ValarSue looked at her curiously, she hurriedly added, "More powerful, I mean. You know, after eating the Cookies of D – of Power." Not a very original name, perhaps, but it hardly mattered when you were talking to someone who had more pairs of shoes than I.Q.

"Noteth noticeablyeth, Lana-kins. But, then againeth, I _ameth_ already so veryeth powerfuleth, don't thee agree?"

"Of course," Koss agreed despondently, cursing the Witch King. He and his stupid _Cookies of Doom™_…it was no surprise really, and she really shouldn't have had such high hopes…Ah well, there was always Grond Jr –

"But noweth thateth thee mentioneth it, I thinketh I need the little Valar's roometh. Excusteth moi." Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie hurried off, leaving Koss with her eyes wide in surprise. Quickly, the Keeper of Sanity stashed the tray behind a suit of armour – she was sure it made an irritated noise – and followed the 'wife' of her employer.

What she found…was not a pretty sight. One of Chloe's hands held back her hair, while two fingers on the other hand were forced down her throat - thusly producing a retching sound complete with the half-digested remains of the Cookies of Doom™, which, like a waterfall, made its graceful journey into the toilet bowl. Oh, yes, among the marvels brought by Chloe was the miracle that was sanitary waste disposal. Or, to put it more tastefully – or, rather, not so tastefully – plumbing. But this is unimportant, as is the fact that since the Sue had no idea where the contents of the toilet went after flushing. But that is another story for another time. Preferably a story discussed by plumbers.

Anyways, when Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie looked up, impulsively wiping a stray heart-shaped sprinkle at the corner of her mouth, she was _not_ happy to see Koss gaping at her. "It's noteth hwhat it looketh like, I sweareth Lana, luvvie. I _swear_ there was _real _chocolate in there! _Witheth **fat**I! _Omigod, I couldeth haveth dieded with thateht much chocolate!" Chloe was too busy trying to convince herself that she had not in fact enjoyed the cookies with the fat and chocolate, that she did not notice the dark expression on Koss' face, nor hear the sound of Orcish profanity.

"I take my leave, my liege," Koss muttered darkly, hurrying out of the bathroom. Ravara didn't even notice.

Ah, she should have taken this into consideration. There was no possible _way_ that Mrs. Sauron's figure stayed stick thin like that. It wasn't natural. Of course, MarySues themselves were not natural, but even so. Bulimia was a horrible, horrible thing, only because it ruled out poison as a means of killing Chloe. Damn.

Soon enough Koss reached her office. She was glad that Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie knew nothing of it, else it be bedecked in pink drapes and cut-out heart shapes on the walls. That, and all her weapons would be removed. The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity distractedly threw a dagger at the door – where it stuck, hilt quivering – while cursing her luck.

"Damn, damn, damn. Damn Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie!" She glared at Grond Jr. wishing she could smash Chloe's head in. Her expression, however, turned to one of fascinated horror as she saw tiny pink flowers bud along the spikes of her mace. Frantically, she ripped them off and tossed them to the floor, where they turned to ash. Trepidation growing, Koss turned her gaze to the dagger still stuck in the wooden door.

"Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie."

Immediately flowers sprouted, encasing the blade and hilt in a Pink Petal-ed Prison™. Each individual blossom consisted of thousands of tiny petals, no two the same shade of pink, impossible though it may sound. But in a MarySue-ridden world, nothing is impossible, except perhaps being prettier than said Sues. Digression. Koss' glare, however, reduced the pink vegetation to cinders.

Ravara – _Chloe_ – had reduced Middle-Earth to her personal playground, where its inhabitants were at her beck and call. Her only goal in life was to gain pleasure from the 'hawt-ies' in her heart-HAREM-heart, exhaust praise and worship from star-struck inhabitants and otherwise wreak havoc with the Yin and Yang of Arda. And now, with the flowers every time her name was spoken…That was it. That. Was. **IT.**

Grond Jr. felt very comforting in her hands.

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss found Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie in Sauron's chambers, oddly enough. One would think she would be in the heart-HAREM-heart, or inflicting mayhem by being herself. But, no, she was sitting on Sauron's lap. Koss was surprised that the armour of Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly's_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera, didn't pierce Chloe's skin. Then again, Sue hide is unnaturally thick, much like themselves. It explained why the Orcs were so fond of using Sue Skin™ as leather – at least, before little miss Valar!Sue came along.

Without even greeting her dazed employer or his alleged spouse (why bother?) Koss hefted her favourite weapon and felt it connect with Chloe's head with a satisfying _thunk_. The Empress of Sues toppled off her 'husband's lap, into an untidy heap on the ground. The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity brought Grond Jr. down in a decisive arc.

"Koss? What is going on? Why in Morgoth's name do I have a cape on?"

OoOoOoOoOo

Legolas Thranduillion, Prince of Mirkwood, Elf-boy, Winner-of-drinking-contests-with-dwarves, Koss' Pet, Emissary of the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood, Killer-of-Mûmakil, Torturer of Sues (ToS), Delight of the Fangirls, Traitor Extraordinaire, shook his head. It felt as if all the clouds in the sky had left his brain via his pointy Elvish ears. Ears that picked up the sound of cracking knuckles, and maybe the sound of growling.

The rest of the heroes stood before him, anger plain on their faces. But…one glance at what they were wearing made Legolas raise a hand to his mouth to stifle his snort. But that made the bangles on his hand tinkle, and when he looked down at himself, his eyes widened in horror and his jaw dropped.

_What in Illuvatar's name am I wearing? And where's Koss? I need her help!_

OoOoOoOoOo

"Shire…Baggins?"

"You're right…I can't remember a thing – Hey! Why are we in pink lace?"

All the Ringwraiths screeched in revulsion at the horrible material that seemed to burn them right to their immortal souls. All, except one, of course. Nazgûl No. 6, Taylor, rubbed the material between his fingers thoughtfully. Frodo caught sight of this, and seeing as he was rather…vertically challenged, shall we say, promptly kicked Taylor in the shins.

"OW!"

OoOoOoOoOo

Kreésh-När the Orc closed his eyes, counted as high as he dared, then opened them again. Damn! His faithful – enough – battalion of soldiers were all sitting in a circle, most with drums on their knees. And the worst thing was that every single one – himself included – were wearing _Man-clothes_. Urgh. Had they no honour? What matter of devilry was this? This pendant with the Man letter 'Y' in a circle? (Koss had made sure that all captains were proficient in the tongues of all the peoples of Middle Earth)

Already the SoS were tearing off their ridiculous 'clothes', howling their distaste.

OoOoOoOoOo

"It was all her fault, Milord." Koss gestured to the mangled body with the bloody Grond Jr.

"And who is _she_?" Sauron asked patiently, as patiently as a EVIL Dark Lord could be after being told he had been controlled by some…female. The cape had hurriedly been burnt to a crisp, lest he continue to be tainted by the influence of the Sue.

"She is Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie." Obviously, Koss had forgotten why she should not speak _Her_ name, because she suddenly found it very hard not to laugh. A pink flower had vegetated. It was not very big, but it was very noticeable, especially against the background.

It had sprouted on the very tip of Sauron's nose. He squinted his eyes trying to find out what it was. "Koss…what is _that_?" He sounded almost…worried. And who wouldn't be, after being subject to every whim of a deluded, narcissistic – beautiful, loving, perfect… Sauron's gaze slid back out of focus and another, gaudier cape adorned his shoulders.

Someone tapped Koss on the shoulder. She turned, retort dying on the tip of her tongue.

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, Half-Maia, Valar!Sue, Empress of Arda, tutted disapprovingly.

"Now, _that_ wasn't very nice."

OoOoOoOoOo

(**1**)To my knowledge Foie Gras is some type of pâté. It just sounded funny. Sue me. XD

(**2**)Not too appetising, I know, but what other leaves from LoTR can _you_ remember, eh? EH?

(**3**)Modified from 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' by C.S. Lewis. Means I don't own it either.

(**4**)Suggestion by a loyal reviewer, Sushi-san. The instructions were hers as well, I just edited here and there. May it be known (because I'm too lazy to go back and change the chapter again) that Koss was the one who did the whole pouring ager and resentment and such. Sam did the cooking bits. )

(**5**)A Morganite is a type of gem that is pink. I know my rocks, yo!

HAH! YOU THOUGHT SHE DIED, DIDN'T YOU! NEENER, NEENER, NEE-NERR!

Heh. Couldn't resist that. But seriously, a Valar Sue will not die so easily. Koss needs a challenge, and I need chapter fodder. XD Anyway, we'll have fun thinking of ways to kill this presumptuous little Sue, won't we?

And, on another note, I have lost my beta. Ok, fine, she's gone overseas to study, and her internet time is so limited I think it'll be another month before I update _this_ chapter. So I'll need to find a new one, preferably someone who goes online often, or at least checks their email often. I don't think I'll limit myself to one. So, if you find any mistakes this chapter, don't be harsh. I've got exams. XD

REVIEW!

anila.


	11. 10 Of Butteflies and More Dark Lords

Hey, this calls for a celebration! My first double-digit chapter! Woot! Go me!

As an afterthought, go you, my faithful readers and reviewers. Without thee, I would not have had the inspiration (or guilt) to go on writing. XD Let us hope you've all stuck with me although I haven't killed Chloe yet.

Also, we welcome a new addition to the Neener Express; Cha Cha1, my new beta. Please say hi.

**Hiya folks, **

**As you're all aware, I've volunteered to be Alien's beta and she has asked me to give y'all a little intro to myself.**

**I live somewhere in south-eastern Arizona and have been a part of for a couple of years. I have a couple of stories posted, but alas, my main one is incomplete. For the time being anyway, I do plan on getting back to it. Eventually.**

**My interests are varied, but my first love has always been art. I will someday, hopefully, become a digital media artist. Or maybe a forensic artist. Haven't settled on which one yet. I love to dabble in writing, hence my interest in fanfiction and my previous occupation as a journalist for our local newspaper. Yes Virginia, I was actually published.**

**In the last year and a half I've taken up dancing for the first time in my life. No, not ballet (a lot harder than it looks folks!) or ballroom. Nope. It's called Ballet Folklorico. Mexican folk dancing. My group actually performs and such. Lots of fun and great exercise.**

**I also love helping out other writers and try to encourage them as best as I can. No point in tearing people down when you can actually be constructive and try to help them to improve their skills. Lazy writers who don't bother trying to improve drive me up the wall, though. They need to stick to reading other people's works kids.**

**Well, that's all I can think of to share. Keep up with the reviews. Alien is downright scary if she doesn't get enough! ;p**

**Cha Cha 1**

Alien: Of course I'm scary! GRRR! XD

Warning: The ValarSue. And the destruction of the carefully built personas of Middle-Earth.

Disclaimer: I own LoTR, the Philosopher's Stone, a deed to the biggest diamond mine on Earth and the planet Saturn. Oh, and Happy 'Let's-Lie-To-The-Reviewers-Who-Feed-Us' Day.

OoOoOoOoOo

Needless to say, Chloe was not very happy with Koss for attempting to murder her. Or, to be more accurate, _actually_ murdering her. The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity, however, could not bring herself to genuinely give a damn. She had underestimated the enemy; stupid the Sue may be, but she was powerful. Powerful enough to regenerate. No other MarySue or GaryStu that she had before faced had so much influence on Arda. Hell, no other Sue could ensnare Sauron, Lord of the Rings.

But Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had, and with much gusto on her part. The Authoress brushes pink flowers from the screen of her monitor, and notices that a few butterflies flutter away as she does so. Pink glitter butterflies.

"I will have to punish you for being so impudent, Lana," Chloe said disapprovingly. Oh, didn't I mention? The Cookies of Doom™ (COD for short) had an…effect on the ValarSue due to the contact it had made with her tongue and throat – so brief a contact it may have been. And so, while the mere existence of the Empress of Sues annoys us, the fact that she can now speak in unflawed, un-Shakespearean English – as well as the Black Speech, Elvish, Westron, French, Malay, etc. – sort of makes it a tiny bit more bearable.

At any rate, Koss was not worried. There was no way a MarySue – newly repaired speech functions or no – could think up a worthwhile torture. She once had the misfortune of meeting a Sue who punished people by making them _read _(gasp!) _a **book**_. The villainy knew no bounds. Luckily, Koss had had the chance of killing said Sue. But not before making the Sue learn her ABCs.

Koss was right, what little comfort that thought brought her. Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie (shoo, butterflies!) made her sit in a room while another woman – Koss dimly recognised her as the sister of the Rohan King – calmly sat opposite her and told Koss that she wouldn't be getting a pony this year, nor a car (whatever _that_ was) nor a diamond studded dress. And she wouldn't get the IthilienStreet Guys to play at her birthday party. She was also grounded for two days and had to finish _all her homework_ and curfew is at ten o' clock, no arguing, young lady. And so on and so forth.

A bemused Koss walked out of the 'torture chamber' some time later, her ears ringing with ridiculous phrases like "no internet-chatting" and "no, you can't borrow your father's credit card". Simply absurd. Only a Sue would think it torture. Speaking of Sues…

"I hope you have learned your lesson, Lana, dear. It's simply not _safe_ waving around that…big heavy weapon thing!" Okay, so there were still aspects of Chloe's vocabulary that needed to be worked on. Give her time.

"Of course, my Lady. I wish to retire…I am tired after the…punishment." Koss turned on her heel and left, before Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie could say another word.

OoOoOoOoOo

It was some time later before Koss was forced to come out of the Sue-free Sanctuary™ that was her office, as the Empress wanted to see her. She found the uber-Sue somehow sitting comfortably while floating a foot above the ground. Her feet were propped up on a hairy footstool, seemingly the only thing that connected her with the ground. That is, until Koss noticed Gandalf the White with his staff out.

The Authoress starts a very bad rendition of 'A Wizard's Staff Has a Knob on the End' (**1**), much to the disgust of her readers, which would really explain the number of reviews she's got. Really, 80 reviews for nine chapters (and a prologue)? Pitiful. And another thing –

This rant is abruptly cut off by the EVIL glare that is sent the Authoress' way, courtesy of Koss. Anyway, as I was saying, Gandalf the White, Istari Supreme, User-of-Too-Much-Bleach, Disturber of the Peace, Slayer of Balrogs – a title also belonging to Glorfindel! – Meddler in the Affairs of All Beings of Middle-Earth had been reduced to levitating the Empress of Sues as she lounged on the citadel. Koss realised with a start that the Istari was also giving grandfatherly advice in accordance with his role as the 'old dude who spews random suggestions, yo'.

"Ah, Lana, good. I wanted to see you. That will be all, Gandy," Chloe flashed a bright smile at the wizard, a smile brighter than the light of the silmaril – and this included the fourth one which was currently stuffed into the bosom of her dress, such ample space there was. The one also known as Olórin smiled dazedly from behind his beard. Koss was sure he murmured, "Lemon drops" before walking off someplace where he wasn't so obstructive to the scenery. And such pretty scenery it was too; bluebirds twittering in the clear blue sky, pink flowers everywhere and enough pollen in the air for every pause in conversation to be filled with sniffs or sneezes. Since Koss was already immune to Sues, hay fever was nothing.

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had gotten to her feet. It seemed as if a she wore a cloak of wings – in all actuality it was a drove of butterflies, called into being with the mere mention of her name (and it had been mentioned quite a few times). Chloe looked as if she had covered herself in nectar and stepped into a butterfly farm. But something else caught Koss' attention. It was the footstool. Or, at least, what she had _thought_ was a footstool.

"Will you be needing anything else, my Lady?" asked Gimli the dwarf. Even from what little she knew of the Dwarf, Koss knew that he would _never_ deliberately lower himself to being Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's personal footstool – albeit a footstool now covered shimmering cherry-coloured butterflies. But it was terribly like the Sue to make a character she knew nothing about – and thought was ugly – into some kind of spineless servant. Or, in this case, employed equipment. (**2**)

She did not deign him with an answer – after all, who talks to furniture? – and suddenly Gimli disappeared from view, the air rushing in to fill the space he had previously occupied. The air was suddenly a cloud of butterflies as they took flight, startled at the lack of their perch. Koss took one by the wings, and held it between her fingers. It was pink, obscenely so, and there were…Koss strained to see…letters along its wings. She could just make it out…

_RavarastwinkletoecutiepieRavarastwinkletoecutiepieRavarastwinkletoecutiepieRavarastwinkletoecutiepieRavarastwinkletoecutiepie…_

The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity tossed the insect away in disgust. She surreptitiously wiped her hand on her dress – but then realised that the material of said garment was in no way going to rid her fingers of the sordid Sue's prowess. And speaking of stomach-churning MarySues…

"Lana, dear, come here for a moment." Chloe waved her over imperiously toward where she was currently standing, looking over the parapet, or what had been the parapet. The stone had cracks in it, where the flowers had taken root with a vengeance. What used to be known as the White City was better off being acknowledged as the Pink City, at the rate things were going. Though Sam was having a good time, being a part-time gardener and all.

"My lady?" Koss queried, wandering over to Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's side, but not too close. She was not sure how long she would hold from the Sue's influence, and she was not too optimistic about her chances.

"It is a very important question, Lana…I want you to think about it carefully." Never had Koss seen the Sue look so serious. Koss frowned, and then brightened. Maybe the Empress had finally realised that she did not belong in this world! In that case, Koss was more than happy to push her further using the power of Logic.

"The question I wanted to ask you is…" Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie broke off melodramatically with a sigh, and Koss wondered whether this particular conversation would take the whole night. Ah well. When it came to vanquishing Sues, she didn't mind waiting. Not much.

"Do I look _fat_ in this?"

Koss' first instincts were to remark sarcastically, and then have at it with Grond Jr, which was a favourite conversation topic whenever she met Sues. But she surveyed the Sue carefully; Chloe had her arms held out so that she could show off her perfectly perfect curvy, slim, lean, toned and _natural_ body, now covered in the clone of the dress Arwen wore when she was dying in the Return of the King. Koss blinked. How did she know that? That was bad. Ravara's world, the Sue's world, this place called _Earth_…it was leaking into her subconscious, poisoning her thoughts. She needed to be careful.

"I don't know, my lady Chloe," Koss said, putting on a sincere look and forcing all traces of sarcasm from her tone. Though it was doubtful Chloe would recognise sarcasm if it came in the form of Gandalf and Gimli in spangly bikinis (**3**) singing 'Hit Me Baby'. Koss inwardly winced; she wouldn't be able to get rid of _that_ image. "I don't think red is really your colour."

An alarmed look flitted across the Sue's perfect face. "What do you mean, Lana?"

"It kind of makes you look…puffy. But that might just be the light." Koss was enjoying this new form of torture; she was sure to include it in the next SoS meeting. This thought sobered her up. If there _was_ a next meeting.

"Oh, NO! That's horrible!" Chloe cried, and for a moment, she looked so miserable Koss felt a smidgen of pity. But that was kicked out of her head very forcefully once she remembered that Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was the root of all her problems. This…shameless _hussy_ had destroyed the world her employer had worked so hard to acquire, with her help, of course. All to satiate her hunger for power…as well as other, hormonal hungers. Anger overtook her once again, and she gave an almighty gasp, pointing randomly at the streets below.

"Is that Orlando Bloom?!" She vaguely remembered one of the Sues serenading Legolas and mentioning that he was 'hawter then Orlando Bloom cud evr be1!' It troubled Koss to know that she could somehow picture this 'Orlando Bloom's face, as well as a mental list of 'movies' he acted in. At any rate, mentioning the name did have the desired effect. Chloe whirled around, trying and failing to see the famous actor that did not exist in Middle-Earth.

"WHERE!?"

Koss winced. It had been sometime since she had to deal with the screaming of a Sue; Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had never before squealed out loud in front of Koss. Anyway, said Sue leaned over the ramparts precariously, and all Koss had to do was grab both her legs and shove them over. Chloe screamed, and tumbled off the citadel.

Koss smiled to herself as she made herself comfortable, resting her chin in her hand and watching the Sue's progress with mild interest. Would she be impaled by one of the spire-like roofs? Would her body be horribly battered by bouncing off the many levels of the White – Pink – City? Would her remains be spread out far and wide, a reminder of the Power of Physics?

Nope.

Later, Koss would berate herself for choosing such a high place to push Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie off of. The sheer height made it possible for the MarySue to actually think. Or, not 'think' as such, because the idea of such a creature as a Sue _thinking_ is a laughable one. She was just able to devise a way to get her out of being butter spread too thinly on the bread that was the streets.

Urple wings burst forth from the Sue's back, and against all laws of the Earth – _and_ Middle Earth (that stated that humans had insufficient abdominal muscles to power wings) – Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie managed to not only stop her fall, but flap her way up to where Koss stood, surprised.

"That's _another_ day grounded, Lana," she said disapprovingly, as if to a small child. "And I'm taking away your hand-phone as well. You should learn never to lie, especially about Orlando Bloom."

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss had shut herself in the library, and she basked in the fact that Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was adverse to the idea of _books_ much like her kinsmen. Though, Koss thought sourly, these butterflies of hers certainly had no trouble being near to the manuscripts and scrolls. She absently flicked one away from her current read, 'Known Evils of Middle-Earth'. If her employer had been, well, _sane_, he'd have been pleased to know that 'Dark Lord Sauron' had been the first words in the book, along with the complete list of his conquests and even longer list of titles.

After awhile she tossed it aside in disgust; Sues were in no way 'known evils'. They were completely and utterly moronic, yes, but they were too powerful for their own good. Chloe was a prime example. The Gondor library had thousands of ancient books and scrolls, even more so since Koss made the SoS lug all the tomes from Mordor. Idly Koss scanned the titles of the books strewn on the table she was currently seated at.

_Cooking for EVIL by Sushi-San85 (with special guest recipe by Chibi Binasu-Chan)_

_Fashion DON'TS of Middle Earth by Allergic-to-Paradox_

_Creator of EVIL (by Luthien-Noldor of Slytherin)_

_Magical Gardening the Istari Way by veritasa_

_Behind the Authoress by Cha Cha1_

'_Are They Portents?' A Dream Guide, by Araiona Dubois_

_If they make you wait, kill. With a spoon (by Dawnsearcher)_

_Fili and Bree (a travelling companion) by Fili_

_How to Appreciate Humour (a collaborative book by Psalm 136 and Black P. Rose-Orchid)_

_12 Tips on Appropriate Theme Music by The White Mask_

_Summoning EVIL by DominusLinguae_

_Get the Most from **everyone **(by Sakuyo the Trickster Goddess)_

_EVIL Lords need Good Grammar by Nessa Ar-Feiniel_

_EVIL statues of Middle-Earth by R. Earrings_

_Knees Are For Begging (by Superelfie)_

_Anatomy for Trolls by Ainu Laire_

_Middle Earth Baby Names (by J. Casanova)_

_Parents, siblings, cousins; The Theory of Relatives (Where did they come from?) by Penyu_

_Speaking like a Native, a Ranger's Guide by Jewelled Hunter_

_Flattery gets you everywhere (true story) by Elvenpwner_

_The Power of Jealousy, a dissertation by Swift hunter_

And so on and so forth. (**4**)

A scroll caught Koss' eye; but to say it was a scroll was too embellished a word. It was wedged between 'Top Ten Ways of Torturing Elves' and a copy of 'PlayDwarf' – no need to ask how _that_ got there, or what content it had, shudder – and Koss almost ripped it in two; the parchment was that brittle. In ancient Tengwar script written in what looked suspiciously like blood, or at least very brown and flaky ink, proclaimed:

…_Dear Morgoth,_

_Heard about the banishment. Too bad for you. I guess I'd better carry on the reign of terror and darkness on Arda – **someone** has to do it right. _(Insert suitably EVIL smiley-face) _Have fun in the void!_

_XOXO_

_Sauron XD_

Bemused, Koss turned the parchment over and saw a reply written. The letters looked like they had been carved into the paper, although that was impossible. Even as she read through the short text, the lettering seemed to float around her head, and set about attacking the butterflies.

_Shut up, Sauron, you ninny. I was the better Dark Lord, and you know it. **I** was so dangerous I had to be locked up in the Void, whereas the rest of these pansy-Valar thought you too harmless to be bothered with._

_Ha, so there!_

_Morgoth (RO OrZ) _(**5**)

Of _course_! Morgoth could help her! Now…how to get the erstwhile Valar out of the Void?

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss told Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie that she was going for a walk. And why not? Just because there was a SuperSue in the Citadel ruling over Arda didn't mean that she couldn't relax by walking around the Sod-Stalking Range. It pleased Koss to find out that not all of the 'forest' was filled with cutesy wutesy animals and plastic looking trees. There were still areas that were portentous and sinister. Whatever creatures lay within knew better than to mess with Koss.

Convincing the Sue that going to the forest in her 'dress' would ruin it was a hard task, but she had succeeded; now she was clad comfortably in her normal attire. The only oddity in the whole depiction was the basket she carried; it had been part of her excuse that she also wanted to collect flowers. Idly, Koss chucked the basket on the ground, and sat on a giant piece of rubble that had vines digging deep into the cracks.

She knew there was only one way to call forth Morgoth, short of pleading with Illuvatar himself. But it was a choice she was loath to take, (a choice sadly inspired by a past Sue) because there were so many risks that came with it. Bad enough the Sue affected her as it was; Koss shuddered to think what would happen to Arda if she herself fell to the sway of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie. The lone butterfly that was produced – only one because of the lack of Chloe's influence here – fluttered around pointlessly until it unwisely landed in a Venus flytrap. Or whatever its Middle Earth equivalent was.

The vine next to her shifted slightly, and Koss smiled wickedly. Using quick instincts honed by killing Sues, she grabbed the snake and stuffed it into her basket. Chloe needed a present. If the peepooleth of Gondor had any idea what was going on around them, they might have noticed her snickering quietly to herself as she passed them on the way to the citadel. The basket she held in her hands made slight hissing noises.

OoOoOoOoOo

Alright. This was it. Do or die. Or, actually, do, otherwise turn into a Sue. Dying was the far better option, as it was.

You see, Koss previously was a Sue, in the loosest sense of the word. But she was different than other Sues, because she was able to fight her Author, and throw off the shackles of the story. But Lana (Koss, _before_) was still buried somewhere in the deepest darkest recesses of her soul. And, as any fool would know, a Sue had whatever or whoever at her total beck and call. Right now, Koss was back in the Library to test out her theory.

She heard a scream somewhere in the distance, and smirked to herself. Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had received her 'gift'; the snake she had found in the Sod Stalking Range™. If it was a poisonous one, then it was all the better.

"Melkor, I choose you!" (**6**) It had been the shout of a past Sue. Her name had been Saya Adalah Seorang Yangsangatbodoh, or something like that, and she had thrown a funny fist-sized ball, from which emerged a creature that definitely was not a native of Middle Earth. How could something that was yellow, had little beady black eyes and a crooked tail be normal? Besides, it kept on saying "Pika pika" which, after awhile, gets _very_ annoying. A band of Orcs had taken care of the animal anomaly.

But back to the task at hand. Koss steeled herself, hoping that she when she opened her eyes they would not be 'orbs of sapphire' framed by 'shining chocolate waves to her perfectly shaped hips'. Else Middle Earth be doomed. Even more than it was already, anyway.

When Sauron's Keeper of Sanity risked a peek at her surroundings, she was pleased to see that she was not thinking in mixed tenses, and nor was she ridiculously proportioned. That was somewhat reassuring. She warily grasped Grond Jr – for it was still Grond Jr, and not a jewelled sword called 'Glamdringstingnarsilalala' – because it is always wise to keep weapons handy when summoning unspeakable EVIL.

Of course, this only applies when said unspeakable EVIL is actually present.

The chair was knocked backwards as Koss pushed away from the table and stormed out of the Library. Illuvatar help the poor sod who crossed her path, and that happened to be a random Orc who was staring off into space. Or, actually, not so random. We have met him a few times before; Thrall, the fast-acting Captain. Seeing and recognizing him did absolutely _nothing_ for Koss' temper, except maybe make it worse. He started when she kicked him, hard.

It took him some time to realise she was ranting at him, and he screwed up his forehead trying to decipher what she was actually saying. After realising that she wasn't speaking Suevian, he made some effort to finally understand that she was yelling the following:

"…useless bloody Orcs, train you against Sues and the first thing you do when little miss perfect comes along is don clothes and beat drums! And Melkor knows that it's useless coming here, that's why He didn't even bother to –"

Thrall blinked a few times, and then asked, "Who's this Melkor dude?"

Koss stopped mid-rant, and turned narrowed eyes on him. Her voice was extremely dangerous, and had the Orc-captain been in a better state of mind (i.e. not enslaved by a maniacal Sue) he would be a few miles in the other direction by now. "_What_ did you say?"

The member of the SoS smiled happily and repeated himself. And had he been aware of the look Koss was giving him, no doubt he would be a puddle of melted Orc.

"You know not of Melkor, the mightiest of the Ainur? Melkor, named Morgoth by Fëanor son of Finwë? Morgoth, the one who spread lies among the Noldor because he lusted after the Silmarils? You have learned about Him since you were first accepted into the ranks of our Lord Sauron's army, and you now inform me that you do not know who the creator of the Balrogs is? The Black Enemy, Belegûr, Bauglir, the Enemy, Belergurth, Passim! Morgoth, Morgoth, MORGOTH!"

There was a loud sonic boom, and a burst of wind that was equivalent to gale-force, and Koss' braid whipped around with it. Thrall gave a very girlish scream and ran off, probably to inform the Empress of what was happening. The air had a sudden bone-chilling temperature to it, and all the nearby flowers died, incinerated to the last petal. Little tongues of flame danced about on the stone of the floor. A voice that was terrible and fear-provoking announced:

"Wait a minute…this is not the Void! I have escaped…now if I only knew _how_…"

Koss bowed to the Dark Lord (this being Melkor, of course, and not _the_ Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly's_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera.)

Morgoth seemed to notice her for the first time. "What do you want, _Elf_? I see no reason for you summoning me. Even if you _did_ manage to summon me." That was most definitely not grudging admiration in His voice, no siree. He unsheathed a majestic looking sword, his current weapon of choice. It was nothing like Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's sword, Mikuriku Shitzu (with its Japanese-y runes along the blade, and a hilt embedded with silver, gems and silver gems); Melkor's weapon exuded EVIL in its most basic form – and that, dear readers, had nothing to do with the fact that it was caked in blood of all the races of Middle-Earth. Morgoth watched the butterfly's progress with mild disinterest and then reduced it to ashes without a thought.

Koss straightened, and met the erstwhile-Valar's gaze, and saw the impressed air buried somewhere. Again, it paid to be skilled at meeting your employer's gaze when he was in fiery eye mode. "My Lord, I desire your assistance. A witch has ensnared the whole of Arda, and I am the only commonsensical being left. But she – the MarySue – is impossible for me to kill. Surely one as formidable as you, an Ainur, would be able to slay her."

"That is _all_? You wish for me to kill someone?" Morgoth scoffed, although he looked quite flattered at the prospect. After all, an Elf had summoned him, and from the Void, no less, to deal with a problem no one else could. "Could my _successor_, Sauron, not handle this…thing?"

"He has, ah, _married_ her, my Lord."

Morgoth's laughter was like thunder, and he said, "That's a good one! I always knew he was a useless piece of filth, binding his soul to a piece of jewellery."

"He won the war, my Lord."

"Did he?" Morgoth looked somewhat surprised. "Ah well, it is not like I know all that is happening in Arda; I was banished to the Void, in any case. Very well, I shall aid you. It will be amusing, seeing Sauron awaken from his ensnarement. After all, I'm the true Dark Lord with the most!" (**7**)

Koss gave another, shorter bow, and then walked towards where she imagined Chloe would be right now; the Throne Room. No doubt Thrall would have informed the SuperSue about their 'visitor'. Chloe always thought she looked most imperious, sitting on her throne of pure gold, surrounded by the fey glow of the urple paint radiating from the walls. This light, however, died as soon as Koss slammed the door open.

"Lana! Where were you? I am told – I mean, I foresaw – that we have a very important guest, and –" Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie trailed off as she finally realised their 'very important guest' had indeed arrived – and with much panache. Shadows crept into the hall like they had every right to be there, and the urple-ness of the place faded.

And Melkor, named Morgoth by Fëanor son of Finwë, Destroyer of the Two Trees, re-possessor of the Silmarils, the mightiest of the Ainur, The Black Enemy, Belegûr, Bauglir, the Enemy, Belergurth, Passim, Coveter of the Silmarils, ex-boss of Sauron, the Black Foe of the World and Hater of Spiders, stepped into the Throne Room, and he smiled, and it was terrible indeed.

Koss beamed once she heard Chloe's shriek. But this grin slowly slid off her face. Why, you may ask? For one, the Sue's shriek had been more of a shout of surprise and gladness than one of terror. Also, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had ran – no, not ran, _glided _with poise – across the hall and flung her arms around the ex-Valar. And there was also that issue about Morgoth's now glazed over eyes.

"Granddaddy! You came for a visit!"

OoOoOoOoOo

(**1**) That, my readers, is stolen from the Discworld series by Terry Pratchett. Yet another thing I do not own – though I do wish I had the lyrics XD

(**2**) Do not flame me for this. I know Gimli is a great dwarf, and a favourite to many. Hells, he's one of my favourites. BUT, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie does not like him, and since she can control people, why not make them do embarrassing stuff they'd never do in real life?

(**3**) THANK YOU, Allergic-to-Paradox. I really needed the mental image. -- (That, dear readers, is SARCASM.)

(**4**) That's a bit of a tribute to my reviewers. All the titles have a specific tie with the reviewers, based on reviews/suggestions/emails they sent. ) The complete list will be at the very end of this chapter.

(**5**) I'm not totally sure if this is netspeak, but it basically means "Morgoth Rocks".

(**6**) Yes, that is a blatant reference to Pokemon (which I don't own). Let's just say Koss has met a Sue from that world.

(**7**) A Beetlejuice reference ("I'm the ghost with the most!"). Because Morgoth's summoning revolves around the idea of Beetlejuice's summoning – you know, repeating his name three times. Thank Cha Cha1 for the idea. )

Yay, the end of this chapter signals the end of my exams! And I didn't do as well as I hoped, so make it up to me and review! 'Sides, it's my tenth chapter, and we have to celebrate. Just to keep things interesting and to keep you guys staying for more…I'm going to tell you that there's a very special surprise in chapter 13. So only two more to go before that, yeah?

Cheers!

Explanation for book titles:

1. Cooking for EVIL – Sushi-San85 was the one who came up with the Cookies of Doom™. Chibi Binasu-Chan baked cookies for me. (Cyber cookies, of course.)

2. Fashion DON'TS of Middle Earth – Allyp was the one who induced the images of our favourite Istari and Dwarf in spangly bikinis. Shudder.

3. Creator of EVIL – Luthien-Noldor of Slytherin is the creator of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie; I just borrowed her for a bit…and made her worse.

4. Magical Gardening the Istari Way – veritasa was the one who spawned the idea of pink flowers growing every time someone says 'Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie'.

5. Behind the Authoress – Cha Cha1 is my new beta. (You know, I had such an impulse to say my new apprentice? Darth Cha Cha1!)

6. 'Are They Portents?' A Dream Guide – Araiona Dubois mentioned something about having a nightmare about Sues. My sympathies.

7. If they make you wait, kill. With a spoon – Dawnsearcher did not like the fact that I took so long updating…and also suggested I kill Chloe off with a blunt spoon.

8. Fili and Bree (a travelling companion) – To Fili, with a special shout out to her brother Bree; both act out scenes from my fic. )

9. How To Appreciate Humour – both Psalm 136 and Black P. Rose-Orchid say my fic is hilarious.

10. 12 Tips on Appropriate There Music – The White Mask made this funny comment "DUM DUM DUMMM!" in a review.

11. Summoning EVIL – DominusLinguae suggested the summoning of Melkor to get rid of Chloe.

12. Get the Most from everyone – Based on Sakuyo the Trickster Goddess' review of "more, more, more, more!"

13. EVIL Lords need Good Grammar – Nessa Ar-Feiniel commented on the grammar and spelling of the Sues that irritated he/she.

14. EVIL statues of Middle Earth – Radish Earrings liked my statues of Sauron.

15. Knees Are For Begging – To Superelfie for begging so nicely ("please, please, please, please")

16. Anatomy for Trolls – a spoof on those '…for Dummies' books, which I don't own. Ainu Laire commented that he/she didn't know what a spleen was. XD

17. Middle Earth Baby Names – Jenny Casanova was interested to hear my brother was named "Rohan" and wanted to know whether I had a sister named "Gondor". Sorry, hon, I don't.

18. Parents, siblings, cousins; The Theory of Relatives (where did they come from?) – Penyu happens to be related to me.

19. Speaking like a Native; a Ranger's Guide – Jewelled Hunter imitated Suethors in one review.

20. Flattery Gets You Everywhere (true story) – Elvenpwner, for being so flattering.

21. The Power of Jealousy, a dissertation – Swift Hunter suggested the use of Jealousy of the other Sues and Stus against Chloe.

And that is it. My longest chapter to date, and especially for you, dear reviewers.

Happy Whatever-Day-It-Happens-To-Be-Today!

alien.


	12. 11 The Birth Of A New Religion

The date is 17 of November 2006, the time 3.04 p.m. Malaysia. Let's see how long I take to update…or, at least, to send this chapter to my beta, Cha Cha1.

Warning: Tolkein nerds beware; canon is, for the most part, ignored in this fic. This is because Sauron has won. Neener!

Disclaimer: You know, since I haven't actually claimed LoTR, technically, I can't _dis_claim it. XD But I don't own it anyway.

To this date of tweaking this chapter (29 November), I have gotten 99 reviews, which makes me insanely giddy, and I do not mind at all that I have Accounts tuition tomorrow when it should be the holidays. )

Here's a random quote: 'Wherever you go, there you are.'

OoOoOoOoOo

Voldemortina Avadavat Loretta O'Hara Ravensbane Medusagorgon Greenleaf was very happy. It was her one week anniversary today, and her Elfy was obviously planning something special. And before you ask, the 'Greenleaf' in her name didn't mean she was _married_ to a certain hottie prince o' Mirkwood. It just meant that she was his sister! And how could this be a lie, what with her beautiful tresses of gold which reached past her pinched in waist, almost sweeping the floor? And let us not forget her lovely bewitching eyes of cerulean blue!

She twittered to herself as she imagined how her day would be. After her fairy-maids were done with her hair and makeup and show-offy dress, her first matter of business would be to glide around the forest (what was its name again? Loth-laurel? Ralph-Laurien? Something like that…) singing duets with the nightingales and other such sweetly sounding animals – though not as sweet as she. Then, she would eat berries and nuts brought to her by the woodland animals, caring not that this food could have come from _anywhere_ – including the mouths of these animals. She thought rabies was only for doggies.

Voldemortina tapped a finger against her pouty lips as she thought of what she would do after that. Ah! Of course, she would have a refreshing dip at the waterfall. And since her Elfy would no doubt be drawn to her by her singing, he would see her there, conveniently without her clothes, and despite all facts that pointed to love making (among Elves especially) being a sacred and special act, they would 'get jiggy widdit'. (The Authoress shudders.)

And tonight, oh, tonight! Voldemortina clapped her hands to her bosom in a half-swoon. There was no doubt tonight was _the_ night! Her honey-bunny had booked a table for two in the swankiest restaurant in the forest, in the highest treetop so that they could see the stars. And her best friend – Genevieve Sakuri Svetlana Leilani Brunhilde O'Malley Garcia Bjornson Al-Tahimi Smith – that her Elfy had been seen going to the forgery – I mean, the jewellery store (OMG, TIFFANY'S!) – and emerging with a box, small enough to hold a ring!

But of _course_ she would say yes! And, she didn't mind saying so; it _would _be her Elfy who was getting the better end of the deal. After all, he was getting _her_! How could he do better?

Once more that annoying twitter of hers echoed about the clearing she was in, and if the animals in the area were actually in control of their functions, they might have considered migrating. Very soon.

Again, we have the fast-forward button to thank for the skipping of singing – cough**sickcat**cough – the eating of animal-spit-covered food, unwise swimming in lakes of unknown depth contaminated with Ebola and NC-17 rated scenes. I hear there's a fast moving new religion that worships this button. E-mail me for a free detailed pamphlet ("ShitpassmethedamnedremoteNOW!") and a full kit (including, but not limited to; one instruction book longer than the LoTR trilogy, a remote control with only one button – the Master Fast-forward button, for all occasions! – and several demo tapes.) while supplies last. Call now and you can get yours for a low $99,999.99, in 3.3333 easy instalments! If you feel unsatisfied with the product, you can return it within 30 days! (Please allow 31 days for shipping.)

_Anyway_, we now see Voldemortina Avadavat Loretta O'Hara Ravensbane Medusagorgon Greenleaf happily sitting with her Elfy at a candlelit table for two, in a swanky restaurant that shouldn't have existed in the first place. As soon as they had finished their dinner – Voldemortina had had a light salad with a side of caviar, thankyouverymuch (though the Authoress seriously doubts that she _would_ have if she knew caviar was fish eggs. It just mattered to Voldemortina that rich people ate it, and thusly, so would she.) – Elfy had gone down on one knee. Just as planned – I mean, _guessed_.

And of course she had said yes – why shouldn't she? After all, it wasn't as if she couldn't get another Elf's attention if Elfy here got too boring in bed. But that is a topic the Authoress cannot stomach – who can, when there's a Sue in the equation? – so we'll redirect the narration.

And so, she was admiring her ring, posing in such a way that the moonlight accentuated her lovely features (which were, mind you, nowhere near Chloe's standard, XD) so Elfy could do nothing but stare at her in wonderment and _love_, still in his uncomfortable position on one knee.

It was probably a good thing, as such, because of the not-so-large projectile that went straight through Voldemortina's head. It probably hadn't met with much resistance. At any rate, Voldemortina now had a bloody hole in her head, and she keeled over, quite obviously dead.

Now 'Elfy' – he's not terribly important to the plot, so no need to know his real name (too long and complicated anyway) – was free of this Sue's clutches. He blinked once or twice, and got up from his position on the floor. He noticed Voldemortina's predicament, and murmured, "How strange. What a miserable fate this poor maiden has suffered. And I know not of any memory of her or why I am here…"

Unfortunately for him, a mysterious figure emerged from the shadows. We are now introduced to the monstrosity that was Genevieve Sakuri Svetlana Leilani Brunhilde O'Malley Garcia Bjornson Al-Tahimi Smith, the late Voldemortina's 'best friend, lyk forevah!' Riiiiight.

Anyway, Genevieve went over to console poor Elfy on the loss of his love, and suddenly their eyes met, and shivers of mutual realisation and passion shot through their bodies. (Or actually, to be more accurate, through Gen's body. Elfy's shiver was more the loss of control of mind.) And so pointless passion goes on, regardless of Voldemortina's corpse just a few feet away. Maybe it's erotic to them. Gag.

THANKFULLY, we have no time for this, and we leave behind cries of "Oh, Genevieve!" and "Oh, Elfy!" to investigate where the projectile that killed Voldemortina came from. But, before we leave Lothlorien – for that is where we are – I deign to point out that the projectile is small, round, white and covered in dimples.

OoOoOoOoOo

A loud voice emits profanity, well, loudly and vociferously, causing birds and other animals to scatter.

"YOU'RE A BLOODY CHEATER! IF YOU HADN'T MARRIED MY GRANDDAUGHTER –"

"What, grandpa? You'd make me eat my clubs? I'd like to see you out-swing _me_."

"YOU'RE ON!"

OoOoOoOoOo

Jl;ldhjlerkj Nklglkjw/lhihgw J; elt'kaqe Mnsgdlnqfk Wrdppk664i6 Bgthsrfjyz Potter (**1**) laughed gaily as she soared around the newly renovated tower of Orthanc. Strong hands gripped her hips tightly, as it was Looks-just-like-Leggy-but-isn't-really-Leggy's first time on a broom. And as Jl;ldhjlerkj was the only daughter of Harry and Ginny Potter (**2**), flying was obviously an instinct to her. After all, she had been skimming the grass on her toy broomstick before she even learned to walk!

As the offspring of Harry and Ginny Potter, they're looks had also been passed down to Jl;ldhjlerkj, albeit amplified. She had fiery red hair (with streaks of jet black) which reached past her waist in waves. Her green eyes sparkled with inner fire, drawing attention to her flawless forehead, her flawless nose, and her flawless face. She wore stylishly cut green robes (they accentuated her eyes) which hinted modestly at her bosom. The low neckline drew attention to the silver unicorn-shaped birthmark on her collarbone. (**3**)

"Tell me more about your past, Jl; it's so intriguing!" shouted Looks, who, if he were normal, would be screaming in abject terror if he happened to glance down, where (since the Isen had gone about its normal course) the ground was _very_ solid.

"Well, when I went to Hogwarts and I was eleven, and the Sorting Hat said that I was such a balance between all four houses, that Daddy (he's the new Headmaster, didn't you know?) created a whole new House just for me! It's called 'Jl;ldhjlerkj'! Isn't that sweet? I'm the only one there, you know, so I got my own room and everything! (And since I was a slut at eleven, there were lots of plusses to that, Teehee)

"Plus, I was like, accepted as a Seeker for my team, but since there was no one else in my House, Daddy allowed me to pick players from all the other houses! So I had the most unbeatable team in the whole Hogwarts! And then this totally bitchy girl, what's her name?_ Volda_? Anyway, she said she was Voldemort's daughter after raping some Veela, and so she's half Veela and half powerful Dark Lord, soooo unrealistic, and then she said she would be the next Dark Lord-ess, and of course I defeated her, because I'm like, powerful. And my fashion sense is soooo much better. And since I was so smart, I took my NEWTS before Christmas, and I got the top most highest score in the whole WORLD I didn't have to go to school anymore, but I stayed on and became the teacher for DADA –"

At this point, the Authoress has to take a few Panadol pills and have a lie down. There's only so much I can take, you know. So please, while I recuperate, enjoy a cool mug of ale and a wafer of Lembas, along with these complimentary videos of Sue killing. Ooh, my poor head…

(A few –insert suitable measure of time here – later…)

Well…I'm back.

Misplaced quotes aside, we again have to join Jl;ldhjlerkj (does anyone else think her name is odd? Anyone?) and Looks, but thankfully, we do not have to follow their inane conversation – although, one could argue that it was more of a monologue – for much longer. Why? Because we find Jl;ldhjlerkj being knocked off her broomstick (the AngelWing – faster than a Firebolt, OMG!1!) and down, down, down…splat. Impaled on a spire – there really were too many of those in Isengard. Koss would have enjoyed it there. Think of all the Sue-Kebabs™ (**4**), just like Jl;ldhjlerkj.

What about Looks-just-like-Leggy-but-isn't-really-Leggy, you cry? Somehow he managed to take control of the foul contraption and landed in Fangorn Forest, where he continued life as a hermit and screamed blue murder if he caught sight of a broom. But we don't need to know that.

What we _do_ need to know is that the thing that hit Jl;ldhjlerkj (or as some might call her 'Jl;') is a twisted piece of metal, with small metal blob at one end.

Can you guess yet?

OoOoOoOoOo

"Chloe, my dear, tell your _dear_ husband that he has cheated!"

"Darling, tell you beloved 'granddaddy' that he's a sore loser!"

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie paused the DVD of 'The Bold and the Beautiful' (**5**) and took a sip of her martini before turning to an extremely angry Morgoth and a smug Sauron, both wearing tweeds, in the fashion of many ancient golfers of normal Earth. Morgoth seemed to be seething over the scorecard, which had been handled by the Nazgûl, who were their caddies. When you think about it, making the Nine and Three Quarters caddies is not a very wise move.

Speaking of Nazgûl, we see our favourite erstwhile kings of Men and lone Hobbit under the shade of the clubhouse. Fortunately, they are not in their horrible uniforms of tattered pink lace, due to the fact that they are in the 'great out-doors'. _Un_fortunately, now the Úlairi were clothed in robes of pure gold (**6**). Okay, so it isn't really real gold, but the colour was definitely similar, if not even more… dazzling. All I can say is that it is a good thing Sméagol had been fried to a crisp in Amon Amarth, if not the Wraiths would be tackled to the ground faster than you can say 'Precious!'

"So you're saying, the object of this game is to knock this little dimpled ball into the tiny hole by means of these… 'clubs'…using the least number of hits possible?" asked Taylor (that's Nazgûl No. 6) sceptically.

"Yes, that's it. So, since Lord Sauron finished the course with 1659 strokes, and Lord Morgoth with 353434 strokes(**7**), Lord Sauron won," explained No. 7 with the air of someone who has said the same thing ninety-nine times, and was anticipating a hundredth.

"That still doesn't mean that he can take out his anger on me," said a distraught Pavlov disconsolately. Said Wraith had been bonked on the head repeatedly by an irate putter-wielding Morgoth after telling the ex-Valar that he had been beaten by Sauron by approximately 351775 strokes. That could be seen as the drawback of being the only Nazgûl who could count (discounting Frodo, who was too short to see where the ball had gone)

"Shire…Baggins," came the sympathetic reply.

We return again to Chloe, and see her looking at the scorecard Morgoth had brandished at her, again claiming that his good-for-nothing grandson-in-law had cheated. Whether this accusation is accurate or not, we shall never know, and for two reasons; we know not the extent of the rivalry between the two Dark Lords and; Chloe has no idea how to tot up scores for golf, much less how to figure out whether someone has been cheating. The Authoress has no idea either, actually. But that is beside the point.

My point? Being a MarySue, or indeed even a Valar!Sue is not enough to make you understand the game of golf. This is why Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, after staring at the scorecard for a few moments, mouthing numbers and counting on her fingers, said this: "Shouldn't Ronnie-poo have gotten 4 and Grand-daddy 4 as well?"

It was a diplomatic idea, sure, but it was waaaaay off. But even rivalry is put aside when faced by the beauty that is the SuperSue, because Sauron and Morgoth nodded and _shook hands_, telling each other that 'that was a pretty good game' and 'you ain't so bad, youngster' and so on. Of course, one would argue that both Dark Lords would rather agree or have pink glitter butterflies fly into their throats and choke them. Bad enough they didn't notice the pink flowers sprouting from their tweed berets, and _that_ brought their EVIL-Dark-Lord status down many, many notches. Right now, they were somewhere between Bob the Balrog ("Can he whip it!") and McDonalds. (**8**)

Anyway, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, satisfied that she had ended the argument, turned back to her TV – which shouldn't have existed – to find out whether her theory of Rick cheating on his wife Monica with her brother, Kingsley, who actually wasn't her brother (he was adopted) was right. (**9**)

OoOoOoOoOo

It is odd that we have gone through more than half a chapter without seeing a completely sane being of Middle-Earth. I am sure you are all crying in thanks that we finally see Koss. Disgusted by the fact that Morgoth had no effect on the Sue, the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity decided to return to the Sod Stalking Range™. No, it was not to collect more snakes – Chloe would only use it to further her personal snakeskin product line; the 'present' from the last chapter was made into a fashionable purse and a pair of skin tight pants, although the snake wasn't that long in the first place.

Reptilian merchandise aside, we see Koss searching the darker areas of the Range, searching for what, we do not know. Finally, a smirk adorns her face and she pulls out a dagger from her boot. Kneeling in front of a plant with small yellow flowers, she quickly and efficiently started stripping the leaves of the plant, storing them in a small pouch she had procured earlier. This plant looks particularly harmless, especially among twisted oaks thousands of years old, and shrubs that rustled, seemingly of their own volition.

After the pouch was sufficiently full, Koss once again straightened and proceeded back to her quarters, where a small pot of…liquid bubbled ominously. Chucking another log into the fire, Koss carefully added twelve whole leaves, and chopped the remaining into thin strips. Once the whole leaves had dissolved, she added the strips, murmuring a few choice words in Elvish. She added seventeen drops of blood from the fourth finger of her left hand, and was unsurprised that the potion, as we will now call it, turned a dark shade of white (if that's even possible).

Koss glanced at the open book in front of her, which she had taken from the library: "Cooking for EVIL".

_Let the mixture steep for the time it takes you to run and get a personal possession of the victim's (preferably a necklace). Make sure to wear protective clothing when adding this possession, as the potion will spatter slightly._

_Take the two reptile eggs and add them, shell and all. For taste, add a quart of dirty Orc laundry water. Circle the pot/cauldron/teacup three times, taking care not to go slower than a-non-raging Oliphaunt, while chanting the chant you can find on page 483 paragraph six of the book "Chants for EVIL", also by the same author, which has to be purchased separately for 59.99 Eyes, plus taxes (that's also equivalent to five jewelled encrusted weapons, or a threat from the Dark Lord Sauron, though it's doubtful you'll have the latter) available from the A T & T (A Troll and Another Troll) _(**10**)

_After the third time circling, take care not to make any sudden movements or else an alien entity will form in the pot/cauldron/teacup/saucer and gouge your eyes out. Or not. Best be safe, eh?_

_Add the powdered toenail of a Warg killed by a Rohan blade, followed by a willingly given hair of a wild Maeras. Bang in the four cups of sugar (or four thimblefuls, depending on your medium of mixing) and take a nap for exactly one and three-eights of an hour. Your potion is now complete. Mix it with any drink and serve to your victim, chilled._

OoOoOoOoOo

"My lady…" Koss called out, wary about where the wife of her employer was. Possibly indulging in activities involving the members of the heart-HAREM-heart. Not that Koss needed to know. At all. The light from the torch on the wall showed a clear line of marble floors covered by expensive furs, and maybe three or four items of clothing. The SuperSue may have been 'beautiful' and married to the owner of Arda, but she was nothing if not a slob.

"Yes, Lana? Is there something I can do for you?" Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie asked, looking up from a piece of parchment she was writing on. A stray butterfly burst into flame, and Koss' boot ended its miserable life. Before waiting for a reply – why should _she_ help anyone, anyway? – Chloe brandished the piece of paper at her. "What do you think of this?"

Koss gave the writing a cursory glance, but found herself actually reading it to see the extent of the horribleness. The somehow procured pink ink and heart-dotted 'I's only made it more agonizing. I will let you have a brief taste, but for the faint-hearted among you, it is my duty as Authoress to warn you; proceed at your own risk. I am not responsible for any horrendous gagging, urges to gouge your eyes out or suicide attempts (successful or no)

_Ice queen they called me_

_But my heart has melted_

_For I have met the One_

_My true Love_

_My…Leggy-chan…_

_With his hair of pure gold_

_And eyes like sapphires_

_And a pe – _

Koss' eyes widened. She did _not_ need to know about that. What on Arda was a pencil case, anyway? (**11**) "It's uh…really radical, my lady," she said uncertainly. Compliments always got a Sue's defence down. Not that they had that much of a defence in the first place.

"REALLY!? I mean – of _course_ it is! What's that, Lana-kins?" Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie asked, pointing to the goblet held in the Elf's hand. I would say 'other' Elf, but we must not forget that Chloe is half Elf, half Maia and all Sue.

"It's a slimming potion, as well as a brain stimulant, and…" Koss curled her lip in disgust. For the good – or bad, really, since Sauron had taken over – of Middle-Earth… "And…an aphrodisiac."

"Wow! Not that I need such a thing, but…why not give it a try? I'm sure it's a wonderful gift, Lana! This isn't some kind of trick to get out of your grounding, is it?" The SuperSue waggled her non-existent eyebrows suggestively.

"Eh…of course not, my Lady. It is my fault, and I am paying the consequences of my actions."

"Wonderful! Now, if you'd just pass me that glass…"

"No!" Koss snatched it away from the talons of the Valar!Sue. "If you wear the Ring of Power, then you will die if you drink this potion! You have to remove it, or else you'll…die," Koss finished lamely, inwardly laughing her head off. No doubt Chloe would take the bait…

"But Koss, it's a wedding ring! From my Ronnie-poo!"

Koss clapped a hand to her mouth as she stifled what seemed to be a mix between a snigger and a wince. "The Ring doesn't match your clothes, either! It's too…gold! _So_ last millennia! And, besides! It's not shiny anymore! …'_Ronnie-poo_', as well as…'_Leggy-chan_' will think that is totally un-sexy."

That did the trick. The Ring was practically shoved into Koss' waiting hands. In exchange, Koss gave Chloe the goblet, and only needed to hear the greedy 'glug's to know the second phase of her plan was complete.

OoOoOoOoOo

The potion Koss had given Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had a secondary function as a sleep inducer. This is why, after exactly thirty minutes (as the Nazgûl fly), Koss crept back into the SuperSue's sleeping quarters and found Chloe sound asleep. Here, sound asleep means asleep while emitting snoring sounds that would scare away the Balrog of Moria, poor fellow.

Anyway, the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity crept towards the huge, pink bedspread-ed bed and found the Valar!Sue hugging an inflatable doll that looked disturbingly like a life-size version of one Legolas Thranduillion, Prince of Mirkwood, Elf-boy, Winner-of-drinking-contests-with-dwarves, Koss' Pet, Emissary of the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood, Killer-of-Mûmakil, Torturer of Sues (ToS), Delight of the Fangirls, Traitor Extraordinaire, et al.

And so Koss unsheathed the knife in her boot – a _gift_ from the Haradhrim – and she grinned in anticipation at the screams she would no doubt hear. Or, actually, not. But there would be a lot of laughing on her part.

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss was awakened, many hours later, when Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie burst into her room in alarm. But not even the pink butterflies put a dampener on Koss' mood, for when she caught sight of Chloe in all her glory, she could not hold back her laughter. It had been a long time since she found anything to laugh at.

Gone were the 'blood red streaked midnight black tresses' that used to reach down to Chloe's ankles. The Sue's hair had been sheared to resemble the cru cut all soldiers of normal Earth are familiar with. Indeed, one would think that without the weight the hair provided, Ravara's head would be floating in the sky, seeing as it was filled with air anyway.

The fact that the potion had a side effect of making the victim's hair turn yellow was an added bonus, no?

But what really took the cake was the way Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was holding her own throat and gaping like a goldfish (or whatever its Middle Earth equivalent was) Now you know the purpose of the potion. Koss tried her best to hide her smile, while Chloe panicked. Said voice removing potion would last a full month. At least there would be no verbal interruptions while Koss found a way to suitably get rid of the damned Sue.

A piece of scented parchment was shoved in her face. On it was scrawled (with pink lipstick, I might add) the following: _Help me get my voice back and you won't be grounded anymore! I'll even give you a brand new phone!_ What was a phone?

But that wasn't the point. Why did Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie not care about her missing hair? Koss looked up and gaped, and saw as said locks of midnight ebony seemed to sprout from the Sue's head, much like grass on radioactive fertilizer. Koss just covered her head with her pillow in disgust.

OoOoOoOoOo

Much, much later, Koss found herself in the Throne Room, and was amazed by the amount of people in the hall. They were all kneeling, save a few dressed completely in long silver robes that brushed the floor. Said silver robed people reminded her of priests, which meant that the people were worshipping something, and that something was…

No guesses there. As if the pink butterfly motif on the back of the priests' robes weren't obvious. Trust the Sue to turn being mute into some kind of reason proving her divinity. The Warden of Sauron's Sanity had to quell her bile as she watched each 'disciple' shuffle forwards on hands and knees to kiss the pointy shoes of one Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie.

The door burst open suddenly. Emerging from the wreckage was one 'Ronnie-poo' and one 'Leggy-chan', and the Authoress has to cover her ears at the squeal this produces (the latter being the cause, although Sauron _does_ have a few fans too) It was a relief to the eyes that Legolas was not wearing his heart-HAREM-heart uniform, although the Superman/Batman/The Flash-esque outfit was no better. Sauron still had his _totally trendy_, 'artistically' ripped, gaudy cape over his usual armour.

Legolas clasped his hands together and cried, "My Darling Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, I do not care if I will not hear your melodious voice ever again, I still will serve you with utmost faithfulness!" One does not even need a double-digit IQ level to know what _that_ meant.

The glare Sauron shot him would have reduced the pointy-ear to embers, if he had been attentive. The Dark Lord gave a huff, then bared his black teeth in what was most likely meant to be a charming smile, had it been attempted by someone with a better dental record. "And I would rather expire than announce that I no longer love you!"

Koss stuck a finger in her mouth and pretended to hurl, but the choking sounds she made were drowned out by the cheers that met Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's decision to kiss Legolas _and_ Sauron – both of which are extremely disturbing images. The butterflies that flittered around were catalysts to her disgust, and so Koss strode away from the place, disappearing behind a tapestry.

'None of this would have happened if the Dark Lord had just listened to me and fired that stupid Srakh. I can't believe the Ring didn't help –' her thoughts were broken as she remembered something. A slow smirk twisted her mouth, one of the more familiar facial expressions she had.

She had the Ring.

OoOoOoOoOo

Methinks I'll leave it at that. We'll have Koss use the Ring in the next chapter, and the chapter after that will be my surprise chapter! XD Guess what's in it?

(**1**) For this name, I just had to bang my hands on the keyboard, which is what most Suethors do anyway, at the drivel they spew. The Authoress is feeling particularly malicious today.

(**2**) People who actually know me know that I'm more of a slash fan…but one can't argue with the canon. Unless J.K. does something horrible in the seventh book, which I'm guessing she will. BUT this is LoTR, so we shall not discuss that!

(**3**) I was going to put lightning bolt shaped, but then I remembered it was a Sue. Unicorns are, like, t3h cyute!

(**4**) Many thanks to Cha Cha1 for that. My beta, in case you forgot.

(**5**) I don't own this show, and am quite thankful that I don't. No disrespect meant, of course. It's just that I don't like soap-operas, and all I've said here about this show further proves my ignorance. So don't take it seriously. (Shyah, like you do already!)

(**6**) This was based on a conversation I had with someone of Gold Nazgûl are cool, no?

(**7**) Yes, _I know_, it's impossible to get those kinds of scores in golf. But, in Middle-Earth, anything is possible, no? And, 'sides, it's funny. XD

(**8**) You know, Bob the Builder, Bob the Balrog? Haha? As for McDonald's…c'mon. If you control that, you practically control the world.

(**9**) See footnote **5**

(**10**) Taken from 'Sauron's Throne' by biggstrek.

(**11**) What were _you_ thinking, eh?

Ahhh. Finally finished. That little recipe was just something I made up while the power was out. Thank the Valar for laptops, eh? Hopefully I can go online now and send this to my loverly beta. REVIEW!

alien.


	13. 12 Koss has the Ring

A rewrite of my twelfth chapter. It was originally going to go in a whole different direction, but I've decided otherwise. Besides, the hard disk of my computer has died, taking ALL my files with it. My apologies if this comes out late, but, like a fine wine, my chapters get better with more time between updates, no?

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from LoTR. All I do is open up their heads, remove the little box marked "Free Will" and insert a little effigy of myself. I'm planning to do that with the rest of the world, once I get enough effigies.

Warning: The Sue of course, for torturing you. What else would her purpose be, besides wooing characters and annoying Koss?

OoOoOoOoOo

Now, let us recap the entire story so far, since we are at our twelfth chapter. The Witch King somehow intercepts the Ring from Gollum's hand as Frodo and Sam are at the end of their journey in Mount Doom. Sauron is pronounced victor of the War, and after regaining his bodily form, orders the heroes be imprisoned. Sam is employed as Head Cook, while Frodo is taken under the wing of the Nazgûl, as no. 9 ¾.

Unfortunately for Koss, Keeper of Sauron's Sanity, the MarySues take Sauron's new rise to power as reason to court the Dark Lord, doubling, tripling, _quadrupling_ her already full workload. Minas Tirith is deemed the new capital of EVIL, and the preceding arrival of GaryStus causes the Prince of Mirkwood, one Legolas Thranduillion, to defect to the 'Dark Side', as it were, with much amusing results in the White City.

A side trip to Rivendell later, and Koss finds that her employer, as well as the rest of Arda, has fallen under the spell of one Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, Chloe, Valar Sue, Mrs. Sauron, She-whose-name-grows-pink-flowers, Keeper and Exploiter of the heart-HAREM-heart, Destroyer of Punctuation, Eater of Health Food, One with the Impossible Body Parts, granddaughter of Morgoth, Dumbledore and Professor X, and so on and so forth, etcetera, etcetera, you get what I mean.

To this day, all Koss' methods of removing, eradicating and otherwise killing the SuperSue have been bust. Why? We know not. _But_ (and here we have the Royal But, not to be confused with the Royal And) something has happened. A windfall, if you will. Certainly, there are some things to be said about a Sue's stupidity (some _more_ things, if you know what I mean.)

Koss has the Ring. And that is how you summarize eleven chapters and one prologue into four paragraphs and one sentence. No comment.

OoOoOoOoOo

It may strike you as odd that Koss is hardly affected by the will of the Ring. The truth is, the Ring is thankful that it is no longer bound to the SuperSue that is Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, (hells, Chloe had tried to get a butterfly _engraved_ on its beautiful gold surface! The sacrilege!) and is so relieved that it cannot be bothered to ensnare anyone to return to its owner. Besides, who would want to return to an owner who had given it away?

Right now the Ring was transmitting sobs straight into Koss' head, and she was getting a headache. "I can't _believe_ him! He made me, and I returned him to body, and _this_ is how he repays me! By giving me to that – that – that _slut_! The things, I've seen her do in that harem, I tell you –"

"Please don't," Koss interrupted hurriedly. That was the last thing she wanted to hear. No, scratch that. That was the first thing she _never_wanted to hear. To get the Ring's mind off things, (Wait. What mind?) Koss continued, "What can you do anyway? Besides turning people invisible, returning Dark Lords to body and causing wars?" It would be useful to know if she could kill the Sue with the aid of the most powerful trinket of Middle Earth.

Almost as if reading her mind – and the Ring probably _had_ – It replied, "No, you cannot kill the hussy, even with me. Anyway, I doubt _Ronnie-poo_ would approve to seeing his Sanity Keeper with his Ring, even if you used me to destroy the Sue that's controlling him. The dude has serious jealousy issues," the Ring added a matter of factly. Idly Koss wondered which part of Sauron's soul had produced the personality of the Ring. (Y'know, since he attached a piece of his soul to the piece of jewellery and all.) There was _no_ way the Ring had inherited his so called 'cruelty, malice and will to dominate all life', because that side of Sauron did not sound so…childish.

Then again, maybe it did.

"Then what _can_ you do?"

There was a slight silence, from which the sound of chanting and cheering could be heard. The word 'Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie' was most frequently picked up, and butterflies streamed out into the setting sun, although it was only about two in the afternoon. Koss slammed a door just to make herself feel better. The Ring's next words, projected directly into her brain, made her stop and think. Then grin.

"I can corrupt minds."

OoOoOoOoOo

This plan would need careful preparation, with even more careful execution. After all, it was a plan (one of the many) in which the fate of Arda hung in the balance. And, really, it got kind of irritating, waking up to a ceiling covered in pink flowers and pinker butterflies. The view outside the window was _not_ any different.

The Ring, though thoroughly appreciative of the killing of the Sue, was not happy with its role. Or, more accurately, the position it was in. You see, it is very hard to maintain your pride (although you'd think a ring wouldn't actually _have_ a pride) when you are attached to a fishing line, the proverbial worm to lure the prize catch.

Koss ignored the complaints that were broadcasted directly into her mind, instead peering around the corner. The unwilling 'daughter' of Elrond had stolen a copy of the itinerary for the day, and right now (about four in the afternoon) till the next day was off for everyone except the members of the heart-HAREM-heart, who would take part in the "Complete and Total Worship of our Lady's Body". I'm sure you can guess what _that_ means.

Anyway, more importantly, it meant that everyone ('everyone' being non-members of the heart-HAREM-heart) was not in contact with the SuperSue. And everyone knows, less contact with a Valar!Sue better chances of conversion. Yes.

Right now, around the corner we see an Orc, and Koss realised it was Yûrkhna. Do you remember Yûrkhna? He is the infirmary-frequenting Orc, due to his many injuries, who didn't know the definition of a Sue until the Sue Attack at the Black Gates after Sauron's victory, and the subsequent SoS meeting.

This would be called a stroke of luck.

'This had better work,' Koss thought as she let fly the Ring. It landed, and skittered to a halt just by Yûrkhna's feet. That took some skill, especially for someone who has never fished in their life. The Ring, although a little miffed at being thrown around like this, did not forget its mission, and it was as if a voice in Yûrkhna's head said, "Oi! Down here, stupid!"

Yûrkhna's previous thoughts had gone about thusly: '_RavarastwinkletoecutiepiepinkpinkpinkRavarastwinkletoecutiepieOMGSO beautiful Ravarastwinkletoecutiepiepink…pinkpinkpinkpinkpinkPINK! FlowahpowahChloeishott…pink!123!!!! lalalalalala, pink butterflies is pretty…pretty pretty pretty …pinkpinkpink …pinkpinkpinkpinkpink…RavarastwinkletoecutiepieRavarastwinkletoecutiepieRavarastwinkletoecutiepieRavarastwinkletoecutiepieRAVARASTWINKLETOECUTIEPIE – _ooh, shiny!'

Now images of killing, Sues, killing Sues, etc flashed in his mind one after the other, each picture only clear for the briefest of seconds. But one second was enough. Yûrkhna, the clueless yet efficient Orc, was back. But the shiny thing was still dangling in front of him, and he made a grab for it, the Ring just out of his reach. As common sense (or lack thereof) dictated, he made his way forward and tried again, but once again it was in vain.

The Ring dangled enticingly, and Yûrkhna lost his patience, his boots thudding on the marble floor (which was inlaid with jewels) determined to grab the shiny and make it his. Luckily, he managed to stop short when he rounded the corner, almost knocking into Koss._That_ would have been a fatal mistake.

Koss smirked properly for the first time in a long, long time when Yûrkhna said, as though unsure of himself, "_O' Keeper of Sauron's Sanity_?"

OoOoOoOoOo

It took sometime for the both of them to clean up Koss' office from the pink vegetation and pinker insects. Or, rather, it was taking some time for Yûrkhna to clean up the mess, while Koss sat on the table and watched disinterestedly. The Ring sat sulking at the corner of the desk, projecting dirty looks at Koss for treating it like bait, but the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity paid it no heed.

"Yûrkhna, do you know where the Ringwraiths are? I wish to turn them as well." She was getting bored sitting around, when she knew there was a way to gain reinforcements and kill the Sue.

The Orc had an abashed expression on his face as he looked up from his weeding. "I know not, O' Perspicacious Sanity Keeper. But I vaguely remember seeing a band of Wild Elves before you – and the Ring – returned me to my normal state of mind."

Koss sighed, and grabbed the Ring, jumping off the desk and onto the floor. The Elves would make good enough reinforcement, she supposed, better than none at any rate. "Come along, Yûrkhna."

"Shouldn't I stay here, O' Koss? I still have not completed my appointed task." The Orc was a sight to see, wearing a scrap of Koss' old dress as a makeshift bandana, with the rest as a glove-like device to protect his hands. Seeing as the both of them had yet to make a trip to the armoury, he was armed with a pink-hilted short sword, and a pair of pruning shears. Not the most terrifying of weapons, but they would do for now.

"I do not think that would be wise, Yûrkhna. You would probably fall back into Chloe-worshipping state if you stray too far away from the Ring." To emphasize this fact, Koss flipped the Ring, much to its displeasure.

"You know, I could just _refuse_ to corrupt minds for you," it complained bitterly, unused to so much abuse. It hadn't suffered so much since Gollum. Now _that_ was a relationship that ended because of clingy-ness. All that petting and 'My precioussss…' really were turn offs.

"I shouldn't grumble if I were you, Ring," Koss replied cheerfully. "I could always give you back to the SuperSue."

The Ring started muttering to itself, but Koss didn't bother to find out what it was 'saying'. Probably a list of profanity, and profanity learned from Sauron himself. Noticing that Yûrkhna was already ready, she stepped out of her office, and – with directions from the recently-turned Orc – found the band of Elves.

It took a little while longer for the Ring to corrupt so many minds at once – there were about seven or eight of them – but finally Koss surveyed the bowing band of Dark Elves, who now had control over their own minds (in a manner of speaking). With a single order the party returned to Koss' office – there was still a lot of work to be done. And many hands make light work, although one could argue pruning plants had nothing whatsoever to do with light.

"O' Keeper of Sauron's Sanity?"

"Ah, Avari Faye." Koss smiled. Avari Faye (**1**) was one of the highest ranking females in the army, and for good reason. She was the proud holder of the title 'Bane of MarySues' in her homeland, coming second to Koss while she was in Mordor. Orcs and Ringwraiths and Dark Lords are all very good, but when all's said and done, it was nice to have a female friend to discuss best ways of butchering Sues and torturing prisoners over a mug of Orc-brewed alcohol. "What can I do for you?"

"Pardon, Koss, but I cannot remember anything that has happened. The last thing I recall is noticing my legion was suddenly wearing pink, and then the rest is black." The Avari's war-makeup had been touched-up, and the black-and-red marks stood out clearly against her dark skin. It was better than the purple glitter eyeshadow, in any case.

"That would be the SuperSue. Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie." There was a slight groan from the 'cleaning crew' as more flowers grew. Avari Faye reached out and crushed a butterfly. "As you can see, her power is so great that every time her name is mentioned, flowers and butterflies appear in all their pink glory.

"She has seen fit to marry herself to Lord Sauron, and seeing the state he's in, I doubt he can complain. The heroes are members of her harem, and I have been trying to kill her ever since I returned from Rivendell. I'm assuming you, like everyone else, have just been worshipping the air she breathes and the floor she walks on."

The Elleth looked vaguely sickened. "I request permission to skin the Sue after you kill her, Koss. My warriors are running out of leather."

Again Koss smirked EVILly. Ah, how good it was to have assistance. "Granted."

OoOoOoOoOo

Technically, with more people on her side, it would have been easier to get more recruitment. Unfortunately, there was only one Ring, and it only had a certain radius of influence. If any one of them stepped outside of this Ring Radius™ (**2**) they would find themselves back under the influence of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, as well as being extra surface area for the growth of pink flowers and the perching of pinker butterflies.

This, of course, was a problem. How could one amass an army to overthrow (and torture and kill and skin, etc.) a SuperSue if one could only recruit a limited amount of soldiers? But, like most problems, there was a solution.

_Nine Rings for the Mortal Men doomed to die…_

Jasper Darlington Higgins IV rubbed his head where an overzealous Harad had whacked him with a trowel (it had belonged to an OC/Sam-Daughter!Sue, otherwise known as Gardener!Sue). Nazgûl No. 7, however, was busy explaining all he could remember after Koss' departure to Rivendell all those weeks back. Ah, a time without Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie…a time without pink vegetation and insects…almost ancient history, that.

"…So you see, Koss, we realised something was wrong once we noticed we were all wearing pink lace, but…that's it."

"I see. And have you any idea where the other Nazgûl are?"

It was Higgins who answered this time. "Nay, we do not. Although I'm sure Nazgûl 9 ¾ -" (that's Frodo, for you dense readers) – "was called to the heart-HAREM-heart for some reason or another."

Ah, of course. Frodo was, after all, the only Nazgûl who wasn't withered and shrivelled beyond comprehension. Koss had heard more than one Sue commenting on the Hobbit's 'bootiful cerulean blue azure navy sapphire indigo cerulean eyez'. That and how big feet equalled a big –

**Aha! How dare you think such thoughts!** A deep voice rings in your mind. **You are no better than Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, and you do not deserve to be in my exalted presence. Yea, mortals, cower in fear of A** –

_**Anila! Where are you?**_

…**Here, mother.**

_**Playing on your computer again? Go make tea for your grandfather, there's a good dear.**_

**Yes, mother. **Well, you get the point anyway. (**3**)

"Very well then. This will work with only two of you anyway. Let's see…Avari, you go with both Higgins and No. 7. Find as many Uruk-hai as you can, then proceed to my office. Urûks only. The rest of you; follow me. We still have more of the SoS to recruit."

And so they went, never straying to far from Koss, who had the Ring. One particularly stupid Goblin found out the hard way, running out of the Ring Radius™ because he had been startled by the toadstool-seated fairy (with pink see through wings and a purple skirt with matching glitter purple pumps and a purple fur coat, giggle, giggle) that had tried to grab him. The small band of the SoS watched in fascinated horror as the Goblin's skin seemed to shift to pink, and his sandals turn to platform shoes. There were rose tinted spectacles on his nonexistent nose.

They had left him be, and had remained a tight knit group, literally. By the time the Ring said, in a strained 'voice', "That's all I can handle", they had amassed 79 recruits. That is; the original party of eight; thirteen Southrons; five Corsairs; thirty Orcs; nine Haradrim; Pavlov (lucky break, that); one Goblin; seven Balchoth who refused to march next to the three Wainriders; and two more of the Avari. (**4**)

Returning back to Koss' office, however, was a pain. They had to make sure none of them wandered out of the Ring Radius™, which is not such an easy task, seeing as the line was invisible. This made the probability of losing control of their minds very high, and put everyone on edge.

It must be said that Koss' office is not the usual 10 by 15 place of work, with the window view and plastic potted plant in the corner. First there is a main room, where Koss usually meets with the Nazgûl or other high ranking members of the SoS. For other, less distinguished members, this hall is more to intimidate them, what with the Sue skeletons dangling from the ceiling (much like a very memorable dinosaur park, I might mention. Not that there were dinosaurs in Middle-Earth, of course.)

This hall was also decorated with tapestries that depicted the history of Arda, although this was nowhere as extensive as those of Vairë the Weaver, spouse of Mandos. Four doors could be found leading out of said hall, not counting the entrance.

The first was to Koss' proper office, the place where she actually did her work; that is, where she would watch Goblins classifying Sue weapons while waiting for the Sue alarm to go off. The second room was the interrogation and torture room, although the latter was far more frequent than the former. The third door led to Koss' personal quarters, where, aside from the necessities and personal affects, her entire arsenal of weapons hung proudly from the walls.

The fourth door actually led outside. And seeing as they were at the top of the White City, it was used when Koss was particularly irritated with a member of the SoS, and sometimes against stupider-than-usual Sues.

The point of that longwinded explanation was to, well, explain how so many people (using the term in the loosest sense possible) were able to fit in one room. And how many 'people' were there?

About 124, give or take an Orc. Koss was standing on a table, so that all eyes and ears were on her if they weren't already. As she was explaining, their first order of business was to gain control of the armoury, so that they would all be adequately equipped. Archers (about 37 of them) would be in the middle, swordsmen around them, and pike-men around _them_.

"Once we are all appropriately armed, we will proceed to find our Lord Sauron. Perhaps by returning the Ring to him, the SuperSue's powers will be lessened somewhat. We will then round up another hundred followers, and then infiltrate the heart-HAREM-heart. I want you to separate the Sue from the harem-members, and then I will kill her once and for all."

Not one of them questioned this last order. It was obvious that it would be_highly_ unwise to do so, as all of them could tell by the look in her eyes what Koss would do to anyone who dared go against her commands.

"I am not going to give you a rousing speech, like some commonplace heroin warrior," she continued, glaring at all of them. "I am _not_ a MarySue. But I will tell you, you had better understand that you may die trying to overthrow this particular SuperSue, this Chloe. Because I will be _damned_ before I surrender my 923 years, six months and twelve days of helping Lord Sauron gain Arda, all to lose it to Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, who will turn Middle-Earth into a haven for pink foliage and insects.

"Know that anyone, _anyone_ who slips up, anyone who causes the failure of this mission, will die a very slow and painful death. I will make sure to shut you in a room full of MarySues and GaryStus, dunked in the Essence of Mirkwood Prince," snarled Koss, already at the end of her tether. Her frustration over the SuperSue was extremely evident. "Do you understand?" she asked in a deathly whisper, which somehow echoed throughout the crowded room.

A resounding roar of concurrence was heard, and Koss was pleased. There was no way she could fail this time, no way –

"Hem, hem."

The effect was immediate. In one second, a horde of Sauron-supporting Soldiers™ (SsS for short, XD) ready to lay their lives down and fight for Koss, fight for the death of the Valar!Sue. Now all that was left was a roaring horde of adolescent-like party-goers. Rock music was blaring from the walls, and strange lights illuminated the dance floor.

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was beaming. "Are you having a party, Lana? How did you know I got my voice back?"

OoOoOoOoOo

(**1**) Everyone, meet Avari Faye, my one-hundredth reviewer. HUG!

(**2**) I've missed doing the trademarks. Sue me.

(**3**) That actually happened while I was writing this chapter. And right when I was in the mood for writing too.

(**4**) Taking a bit of poetic license here. I know the Wainriders and the Balchoth are clans of Easterlings, but I don't know if they were enemies. Whatever. The Avari are Dark Elves, so Avari Faye was extremely easy to fit into the story.

(**5**) There is no footnote 5! I'm just messing with your heads!

Ha! Fooled you, didn't I? But really, I can't go on giving you a surprise in the next chapter if Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie died, now could I?

And, yes, this was short for something that took so long to update, but bear with me. I've already started on the next chapter, so that _might_come out sooner. Emphasis on the MIGHT.

You know the drill, since you've finished reading, drop us a review. Feed the poor author.

P.S. I need you dear readers to do a couple of things for me. Number one is I'm looking for a few good Original Character fics, a non-MarySue. (Preferably one where the character falls in love with a LoTR character in a **realistic** way)

Number two (and this is more personal interest than anything) what do you _really_ think of my fanfic? How long do you think it will be? Would you recommend it to anyone? Has it changed your views about LoTR, and its characters? How?

Thank you very much, and, as always, don't forget to review. After all, a review could make the difference between the life and death of one Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie.

P. S. 2 I've just realised (and am quite surprised none of you readers have realised) that the Orcs and Goblins and other SoS are happily frolicking in the sun. When they shouldn't be able to. Hmm. Well, as explanation, I can only give you two:

1) Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie doesn't know about said rule, so they don't apply

2) Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie isn't actually bothered about the welfare of others, and so even if a random Orc shrivels in sunlight, she doesn't care.

Anila.


	14. 13 The Surprise Chapter!

Here it is; the most awaited thirteenth chapter! (Of course, since ffnet does not allow the use of prologues, this would be shown as the fourteenth chapter. Do not get confused.)

Aren't you guys excited? I am, as can be seen by my running around in pointless circles, yelling at innocent passers-by. And just before you ask, no, the surprise in this chapter is _not_ the slaying of the SuperSue. I can't have her dying just yet, she's chapter fodder. That and I like torturing you people.

Did you know that out of the 41378 words of my previous chapters, 7155 are disclaimers and warnings and footnotes and author's notes? I wonder why there are so many. XD

Disclaimer: Do you really think I would have been able to create a world, along with its numerous races, devise its history, form its gods, construct languages, their written _and_ spoken form I might add, be proficient in both, come up with all that gripping plot, plus inspire a generation of people (and probably more to come) to write and act, in the small amount of time I call my life?

Warning: The long disclaimer (which, if read without stopping for breath, makes one blue in the face). The SuperSue. The shameless pinching of characters from other fandoms (which I also do not own). The heart attack you might get at the end of the chapter. The insane laughter of the Almighty Authoress as you collapse in front of your computer. X3

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss stared open-mouthed at the apparition that was Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, bedecked in pink-striped pink robes, with butterflies hanging from hoops in her ears. Real butterflies, I mean. 'Magick' kept them alive and unspoiled while being pierced by silver. She blinked, if only to make sure she hadn't suddenly started hallucinating. She wasn't.

Damn.

"You're such a doll, Lana-kins! I don't know anyone who would go through all that trouble for little ol' _me_!"

So much for the effects of the month-lasting-voice-removing potion. And so much for the Ring's influence. As soon as Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had entered the room, everyone had gone back under her spell, complete with the pink flowahs and buttaflies.

Would she _ever_ be rid of this pest?

"Say, Lana, since I'm cured and all, can I have my engagement ring back? Ronnie-poo was most upset I wasn't wearing it." That was Chloe's way of saying 'Give back my property, biotch.' Except Chloe _never_ used coarse language…such swearwords were not in her dictionary (along with many others, I might add. Words I mean.)

"I'm sure he was," Koss muttered to herself, tossing over the Ring, much to its horror. It was clear that the SuperSue had her Valar-like powers, with or without the Ring. Although she did feel a smidgen of pity at the cries of the Ring: "Please, don't leave me with her! You don't know the horrors of that harem! You don't know what it's like, inadvertently reading her mind, full of filth! Please, I beg you –"

But no. The deed was done. The Ring's mental screams died away to whimpers.

"There wuz something else…Oh yeah!" Chloe turned her mega-Watt smile to Koss, and the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity couldn't see properly for a few moments. "I've realised, Lana, the members of my harem-HEART-harem are very few. Not that they don't perform, no," she hurriedly added, misinterpreting Koss' look of disgust. "But I feel…bored. It's soo repetitive."

The Ring wailed.

Now, Koss did NOT need to know that. What in Iluvatar's name did this have to do with her anyway?

"I'm expecting some new…people…who will work in the harem as well. And I want you to make sure they get here safely, and are guided to the heart-HAREM-heart as soon as possible. You know, so they can get to their jobs quickly. I'm sure they can't wait." Chloe winked, and Koss felt vaguely sickened.

So sickened, in fact; that the first thing she did when she returned to her bedchamber was throw up in the rubbish bin. Wouldn't we all?

OoOoOoOoOo

The first of the 'arrivals' came the next morning. The sun was high in the sky, and the air was filled with sound of birds chirping. This, however, was drowned out by the music that originated from the SuperSue's Quarters, where she was doing 'aerobics', or whatever she called it. Koss just saw it as an excuse to wear skimpier than usual clothes, made of something Chloe referred to as 'spandeks'.

Two loud bleeps were heard, and Koss gripped Grond Jr. warily. In front of her, two Men, maybe in their late teens, had materialised. They were clad in odd clothing, grey leggings and funny long-sleeved white tunics that had buttons down the front. There was a narrow piece of striped material around each of their necks; one red-and-gold, the other green-and-silver.

"What in Merlin's name did you get us into _this_ time, Potter?" The speaker was fair haired, gray eyed and slender. He was also sporting a sneer Koss would have been proud of, had she actually cared.

"_Me_? Why is it my fault?" the other boy, black haired and slightly taller, answered incredulously. There was some sort of twisted wire on the bridge of his nose, framing emerald green eyes.

"Yes, it's practically one of the rules of the world; if something goes wrong, it's Harry Potter's fault."

"I like that, that's very witty Malfoy, really –"

The one referred to as Harry Potter trailed off as he seemed to realise Koss' presence. He was a little hesitant in saying anything, and so his companion – Malfoy? – cleared his throat and asked imperiously:

"Who are you? And where are we?"

Koss raised an eyebrow. "Seeing as the both of you have just materialised in front of me, I think it should be me who is asking the questions. Names?"

"I'm Harry Potter." At the nonplussed look on Koss' face, he looked puzzled. "You mean you don't know who I am?"

"Why should I?"

Malfoy snorted. "I believe you aren't as famous in foreign parts as in the Wizarding World, Potter! However, my family is known throughout the _world._" He smirked at Harry Potter, and then turned to Koss, somehow managing to look down his nose at her although Koss was taller than he. "I am Draco Malfoy. I expect you're terribly excited to meet _me_."

Again her expression was blank. Of all her 2895 years on Arda, she had never heard of these two. "Colour me unimpressed," she said.

Harry Potter sniggered. "I think she doesn't know who you are either." Turning to Koss, he asked politely, "Excuse me, my…companion and I would like to know –"

"Potter, look out!"

Koss turned to see a MarySue approaching. She seemed to recognise the two boys, and was squealing at the top of her lungs, "OMG!1 Harry Potter & Draco Malfoy! B my bfs!!!1!" Koss thought her name was Penelopee Pandora Paraphernalia Paraplegic Peony Pansy Pinacolada. Or something.

As one, Harry and Draco each drew some sort of stick from their pockets, aiming it at the steadily approaching MarySue. "Stupefy!" they both shouted, to the spectacular affect of…absolutely nothing. What on Arda had they expected to happen?

Sighing wearily, Koss waited until the Sue was mere footsteps away from the two newcomers, both of whom looked distressed and terrified. Unfortunately for 'Penelopee Pandora Paraphernalia Paraplegic Peony Pansy Pinacolada (or something)', she had to pass Koss before reaching her lust objects. All Koss had to do was hold out Grond Jr.

The Sue's disturbingly avaricious expression didn't even change as she smacked face first into the spikes along the mace. Koss just shook her weapon free, and then wiped the blood off with the Sue's dress nonchalantly. When she turned back to the two known as Harry and Draco, they were both wore matching looks of pure horror. She raised an eyebrow.

"You killed it!" She noted he had said 'it' instead of 'her'.

"No, I just served her a warm mug of cider," Koss remarked sarcastically. "Of course I killed the Sue. Unless you want to be mauled, in which case there are hundreds where she came from. I can fetch them, if you like." She smiled her smile, all teeth and EVIL.

"No, no, that won't be necessary!" the blond one replied hurriedly. He cleared his throat uneasily, then murmured to his companion in a low voice, "What are those things doing here as well?"

"I don't know, Draco. Maybe she can explain?"

"You know, it's very rude to speak amongst yourselves whilst ignoring me completely. And you _still _have not answered my question."

"I'm sorry. As you know, I am Harry Potter and this is Draco Malfoy. We are Wizards, and we come from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In Europe." When Koss looked mystified, he continued cautiously, "You know…one of the continents of Earth?"

"_Earth_?" Koss repeated sharply. Enough that these two younglings claimed to be Wizards, but they came from _Earth_. As far as Koss knew, that was the same world the MarySues originated from. What if these two were GaryStus, or worse, their creators? But they seemed sane enough…

Harry's eyes lit up, and even Draco looked a little more cheerful. "You have heard of it?"

"Maybe I have. But I am still the one asking the questions here, Master Malfoy. What is your business here on Middle-Earth?"

"Middle-Earth? Is _that_ where we –"

Harry decided to interrupt. "Middle-Earth, seriously? As in, Elves, Hobbits, Dwarves, Rings of Power…_that_ Middle-Earth?" He had an expression of awe on his face, but Draco looked totally and utterly clueless. He seemed to be contemplating whether the shift of worlds had damaged the other boy's brain.

"Yes, this is Middle-Earth, created by Iluvatar and shaped by the Valar," Koss answered slowly, still unwilling to trust these strangers. "How do you know of it?"

"There are books in my world, by a man called J.R.R. Tolkein. They centre on the happenings of the War of the Ring, and what happened before and after. You know, how Middle Earth was formed, all its peoples, all its wars…you get the point."

"Unfortunately, yes. Tell me, what was the outcome of the War in these…books?" No one had fully explained the story to her. Granted, the only contact Koss had had with inhabitants of Earth was the MarySues, and _that_ speaks for itself.

"Frodo destroyed the Ring, of course, Middle-earth was peaceful once more under the reign of Aragorn, King Elessar, and his queen, the Elven maiden Arwen, and was forever in peace –" Harry broke off as soon as he realised Koss was laughing. He shared a baffled look with Draco – although Draco was more mystified at their whole conversation, and not just the misplaced amusement.

"So, I presume you do not know that Sauron has won the War?" Koss asked with raised eyebrows, as soon as she composed herself. At Harry's shake of the head, she decided to change the subject. "You say you are from Earth. The MarySues are present there as well?"

This time Draco took over. "Is that what you call them here? They started appearing about two years ago…after our Fourth Year. They kept on squealing about some 'movie', which I gather is some kind of moving picture with sound."

"That seems consistent with the Sues here. Except they've been here a lot longer." Long enough to make an interesting, if bloody, career span of 923 years, six months and 12 days. "Are they the only ones that appear in your world?"

"No," said Harry. "There was one, a guy. He kept going on about how big his 'sword' was (OMG double entendre, LOLOL!) and I mean the weapon." Harry looked vaguely ill at the memory. "Then he threw himself at Draco."

"It's a good thing I know a lot of good spells," said the other boy, with a note of relief.

"So there are GaryStus in your world as well. Curiouser and curiouser," Koss muttered to herself. "What about –"

There were another couple of loud bleeps.

"What the – I could have sworn Elizabeth was here a second ago! Jack, where on Earth are we?" Dark hair, much like Harry's, except it was almost shoulder length. Plus there was a moustache. Koss wondered why he reminded her so much of Legolas.

The other Man, _Jack_, seemed to catch sight of the mangled body of Penelopee. He pulled a face. "We're not in Port Royale, although I'm sure I've seen somethin' like that before." He turned to Koss, charming smile in place. "Would you be so kind as to tell us where we are, luv?"

Koss narrowed her eyes. "Call me 'luv' again and my mace will meet your beaded, bearded chin."

"Ooh, you're a feisty one, make no mistake." He grinned at her, swept his hat off and bowed low. "Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service. And William Turner, my trusty pirate sidekick." There was a definite odour of rum about his person.

"_Pirate_? You are no pirate – no self-respecting pirate would dress like _you_!" she exclaimed in disgust. "And you!" This was directed at a surprised William. "You couldn't scare a _butterfly_, much less be a pirate!" And it Koss was perfectly qualified to make such an assessment having spent almost a year training the nautical regiment of the Mordor army, and surveying the ships of the Corsairs before the attack on Minas Tirith.

"I'll have you know I'm one o' the best pirates there are, luv. And you can't pick on poor William." He looked around and whispered conspiratorially, "He's a eunuch." Captain Sparrow managed to keep his face poker stiff, and Koss would have believed it had William not sighed heavily.

"I really do not understand why you say that to everyone, Jack. It isn't like it's helped before." Shrugging his shoulders, the non-eunuch-but-sure-acted-like-one Will Turner turned to Koss. No pun intended.

"Where are we, lady?"

Koss' look glared daggers, and gave him the standard warning which had him gulping heavily and moving away from her slightly. Only then did she deign him with an answer. "We are in Middle-Earth, in the city of Minas Tirith. Those two –" she pointed at Harry and Draco – "are from the world Earth. What about you?"

"We're from Earth too. Port Royale, to be exact." William, who was beginning to look like the smarter of the two – but not the more threatening – opened his mouth, perhaps to ask what year the two young masters hailed from (At this point it would not have surprised him if they had come from the future or the past – what was time-travelling to world-hopping?). "When-"

BLEEP! BLEEP!

The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity rolled her eyes. This was getting to be repetitive. These newcomers (who seemed to be appearing in pairs) donned armour, and they looked like royalty. It might have had something to do with the gold inlay. Anyway, they seemed to be in the middle of sparring, and they had their swords at the ready.

"Where in Zeus' name are we?" the wiser- and older-looking one asked, narrowing his eyes. Yep, definitely royalty. It was the tone of voice. What surprised her, though, was his associate. He looked so much like Will Turner without the facial hair (and therefore like a clean-shaven, brown-haired, curly topped Legolas) it was uncanny.

"I am the one asking questions here. Where have you come from?" Koss demanded authoritatively. Their weapons did not worry her; nothing much did if you worked for the Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly's_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera.

Before the bearded one could reply scathingly, the Legolas/Will Turner look-alike spoke up. "Pardon my brother, Hector. I am Paris, and we hail from Troy –"

"Troy?" This time it was Draco who interrupted. "_You_ are Hector and Paris of Troy?"

"I'm surprised you know of it, Draco. It's a Muggle story," said Harry.

"No, it isn't," scoffed Draco. "All pureblood children grow up on this story, and –"

"May we stay on topic please?" The mace she held threateningly put off any argument. "Good. I assume this 'Troy' is on Earth as well?"

"Yes, it is. Or it was, a long time ago, when there was still –"

"Do not talk of what you do not know, boy. Troy is still a part of Greece, and will remain so forever."

Maybe it was only Koss who heard the muttered, "Not until your brother steals someone else's wife."

BLEEP! BLEEP! Sigh. This is starting to sound less and less like a Lord of the Rings parody and more like an exceptionally badly censored soap opera. But I digress, as I can see you are probably more interested in who our additions are.

One had a hat that obscured his upper face, and looked like he spent most of his time outdoors. The other was sophisticated, aristocratic and extremely pale. When questioned, the Man did not answer, instead countering with a question of who _she_ was. However, the other…Thing (she was certain it was no Man) bowed to her politely.

"Greetings. I am Count Dracula, lord over all Vampires. And this is the man who is trying to kill me, one Van Hellsing (or, as I like to call him, Gabriel)." He flashed a charming smile and pushed his fringe out of his face. "Is someone as exquisite as you going to murder me as well?"

Ignoring the blatant flattery, Koss opened her mouth, torn between asking what a Vampire was and where the two had appeared from, when the air was filled with another couple of 'bleep!' sounds, followed by the expected "Where are we?"s. The time frame between the materializations was getting shorter and shorter.

The shorter, blonde-brunette one was called Eragon, and demanded to see his Dragon, Saphira. Koss was under the impression that Smaug had been the last Dragon in Middle Earth (unless you counted Xacanythia in the fourth chapter, of course). The other one, who was slightly older looking and black-haired, wielded a bow and arrow like he knew how to use them, and introduced himself as Murtagh.

It was starting to get crowded, and Koss was beginning to get a headache, what with the frequent questions and the fights between the world-jumpers and the stench of the already decaying Sue corpse. By now butterflies were swarming around the carcass, intending to feed on the sweet, glittery blood. (Anuzzer gruesome kill…)

BLEEP! BLEEP! Lucius Malfoy and Sirius Black, both of whom Harry and Draco seemed to know. Right now the blonde was trying to threaten Koss, who was being equally hostile with her mace, while the black-haired man was discussing something with Hector of Troy.

BLEEP! Padmé Amidala from the planet of Naboo. BLEEP! Leia Skywalker, who had a certain resemblance to Padmé. BLEEP! Anna Velarius, who seemed to be acquainted with Van Helsing and _hated_ Dracula's guts. BLEEP! Another Vampire, known only as Marishka, wife of Dracula. Koss didn't even _want_ to know why there were females as well as males appearing now.

BLEEP! Elizabeth Swann, who threw her arms around the poncy Will Turner. BLEEP! Tia Dalma, a mysterious woman who seemed to find the whole thing highly amusing, much to Captain Sparrow's chagrin. BLEEP! An Elf this time, and Koss knew she was not of Middle-Earth, the way the boy Eragon greeted her. His whole face had lit up when he recognized 'Arya'. BLEEP! A dark-skinned, black-haired woman known to Murtagh and Eragon as Nasuada.

It was now extremely noisy, and too packed for Koss' tastes. She needed to get them out of Minas Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie before its namesake decided to drop in. Or maybe they would prove immune to the Valar!Sue and Koss could finally overthrow her. Sauron's Keeper of Sanity preferred the latter option.

But she had to get everyone's attention first.

She ducked out of the hall, no one noticing her absence. They were too preoccupied with finding out why exactly they had been whisked away to this world, and how, and the fact that they now had a hangover-like sensation. It was a side effect from world-jumping without their consent.

Koss permitted herself a gulp of fresh air (as fresh as air gets with all that blasted sunlight and pollen and butterflies) before kneeling behind a corner. Reaching into a pocket (to be found in a location you would die before coming across) she pulled out… (drum roll, please)…a whistle. It appeared to be a standard issue dog whistle anyway, albeit one that was black with silver inlay. Very EVIL looking, as much as a whistle can look EVIL anyway.

In the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity forged in secret, a master whistle to control all Sues. And into this whistle she poured her cruelty, her malice, and her will to summon all MarySues. One Whistle to rule them all. (**1**)

Now watch carefully, O' faithful readers (and reviewers, hee-hee) so ye may discern the purpose of this all powerful Whistle, made of mithril and Blood of Sue. Koss placed the Whistle to her lips and blew once, a sharp exhale. It made an inaudible sound. Inaudible, that is, to normal beings. And, as we all know, Sues are _far_ from normal.

Replacing the item in her pocket once more, she only had to wait thirteen seconds before hearing the click-clack of stilettos on marble (inlaid with jewels). It was a red-haired specimen, all hourglass figures and Cupid bow-shaped lips. The Sue had a glazed look about her, suggesting the lack of free will.

Koss beckoned with one finger, and the MarySue followed her with odd, jerky movements, as if she was a puppet at the hands of a puppet-master suffering from Parkinson's. Nearing Koss' Quarters, the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity grabbed the unresisting Sue by the scruff of her neck (seeing as her sexhay dress had no neckline to speak of) and forced her into the room.

The argument had heated up, and with it the noise levels had risen dramatically. No one noticed Koss or her prisoner. Holding a dagger to the Sue's throat, Koss gave another sharp burst of the whistle.

The Sue (whose name is actually Annabelle Candace Danielle Valerie Priscilla Natalie Valentina O'Hara – Anna for short) regained her mind. (What little mind there was, of course.)

She was about to squeal, but Koss grabbed her 'ruby-red locks' and jerked her head backwards. The jewelled dagger pressed against her neck, and left a red line, marring the flawless, perfect, pale, alabaster skin. Cough.

"You will remain quiet until I tell you otherwise. Understand?" A whimper was the Sue's only reply. "Good. I want you to scream. If you try to escape, I will kill you painfully. But only after chopping all your hair off and burning your entire wardrobe and dunking you in dirty Orc water. Scream. _Now._"

Anna, who _had_ actually been contemplating escape by calling for help from the hunky hunks in the room (an ineffectual attempt, had it been carried out) instead prayed to all the gods she knew – what were they called again? The Valrar? – and opened her mouth and screamed.

The effect was instantaneous. Everyone in the hall (bar Koss and Anna) cringed and clapped their hands over their ears. Once they saw the source of the bloodcurdling noise, they tried to hide behind one another, tripping in their haste. This was quite an amusing feat, seeing as they tried to do so without removing their hands.

Since Koss was already to immune to all sorts of Sue Sounds™, Anna's spine-chilling voice did not threaten to burst her eardrums. Seeing as she had sufficiently gotten the attention of the world-hoppers, and seeing as the Sue had now outlived her purpose, Koss sheathed her dagger and twisted Annabelle Candace Danielle Valerie Priscilla Natalie Valentina O'Hara's neck.

You could have heard a pin drop in the deathly silence that followed.

Dropping the corpse, Koss glared at the crowd. "Can any of you wield weapons?"

About 3.1415926535897932384626433832795 (**2**) percent of them did not make a murmur of assent to the question, and Koss gave a little nod of approval. At least their appearance did more than give her a headache. "All of you who cannot fight, I want you to stay here and figure out a way to get back to your respective worlds – assuming the death of the SuperSue doesn't automatically do that.

"For the rest of you…follow me to the armoury. We shall kill the Sue."

"Why should we listen to _you_?" Koss did not find the fact that it was the blonde Man called Lucius Malfoy who voiced this question surprising. She sneered back at him.

"You should listen to _me_, Malfoy, because _I_ am the sole native of this world currently in this room. As such, I know the layout of this place, the dangers, every single thing you care to name. I know who brought you here, even if I do not know how. If you do _not_ listen to me, you will find yourself under the control of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, and unless you are willing to become a prostitute in her harem, you should very much want to avoid that. Listen to me, and the chances of you returning to your own worlds and times are a lot higher. Have I made myself clear, Lord Malfoy?"

"Inescapably," butted in Jack Sparrow (**3**), and Lucius turned his sneer to the pirate. He did not answer Koss' question.

"Very well, then. Do not wander off on your own, as you might run into –"

"Lana-kins! I see you've found them all!"

"- Her," finished Koss. She sighed. So much for that plan. She was given a tight hug and permission to hold a sleepover by the SuperSue, and dully watched the foreigners trail Ravara out of the hall and into the heart-HAREM-heart. Koss pulled out the Whistle, and killed a few MarySues (in many imaginative ways that are too gory to be mentioned) just to make herself feel better.

This therapy was brought crashing down a few hours later.

The sun had dipped beyond the horizon many minutes ago, and so it was cue for the dinner gong to go. For some reason or other, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was holding a feast, and so the Throne Room was set with many tables draped with urple tablecloths, which clashed with the urple banners hanging from the ceiling, which clashed with the urple walls. Each table had a centrepiece of pink flowers and live butterflies. Tasteful emo music emitted from a hidden source.

Though, a feast would suggest tables overflowing with delicious food and wine. And everyone knew that the SoS ate meat (be it raw or cooked). But everyone seemed happy with the spread of salad and other forms of vegetation. The tables almost looked like they were flower beds. Anything that looked like meat was actually something called 'toe-foo', and it was absolutely disgusting. (**4**)

The heart-HAREM-heart members had a table all to themselves (and a large table _that_ was) while the SuperSue sat between her 'faithful handmaiden' (who was trying to slip poison into the food) and her husband (who was happily shovelling food into his mouth while staring at his bootiful wifey).

Quite obviously, Legolas Thranduillion, Prince of Mirkwood, Elf-boy, Winner-of-drinking-contests-with-dwarves, Koss' Pet, Emissary of the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood, Killer-of-Mûmakil, Torturer of Sues (ToS), Delight of the Fangirls, Traitor Extraordinaire, Head of the heart-HAREM-heart, and so on and so forth, was not at all pleased with the seating arrangements.

Koss, who was busy trying to add strychnine to Chloe's low-carb toe-foo' salad (with low-fat dressing), did not catch the announcement the SuperSue had made. She did, however, look up once the cheering started. Sauron had tears in his eyes and a smile that made Koss wince. Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie turned to her excitedly.

"Aren't you excited, Lana? I'm pregnant! Isn't that, like, the best news ever?"

"Sure, My Lady."

Chloe pouted. "You don't seem very excited, my dear handmaiden."

"I'm bursting with suppressed joy, Lady," Koss replied in the same tone of voice. This satisfied Chloe, who turned and gushed to her Ronnie-poo. Koss emptied a vial into Chloe's bowl.

A few moments later, however, a fork clattered to the floor. Koss felt her mouth go dry. Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was pregnant. There was going to be a mini-SuperSue (or maybe more) running around in nine months. And who knew what powers _it_ would possess, or what havoc it would wreak?

And who on Arda was the _father_?

OoOoOoOoOo

(**1**) Yes, that is an obvious parody. Duh. But Koss isn't silly enough to bind herself to the Whistle (unlike her employer) Even IF the Whistle falls into the wrong hands, its destruction will not kill her.

(**2**) Yes, that is pi, correct to 31 decimal places. XD

(**3**) That is Jack's real reply to Commodore Norrington in Pirates of the Caribbean (The Curse of the Black Pearl) I just watched it. Anyone else seen the third movie? X3

(**4**) No offence to those who eat and like tofu. (snicker) Toe-foo.

MUAHAHA! How's that for a surprise chapter? We really are in deep trouble, the spawn of a Sue, soon to be running about. What gender is it? What_species_ is it, for that matter? Poor Koss.

On a side note, Agent Motiel (that is, Luthien Noldor of Slytherin, creator of Chloe) has updated her Valar!Sue story to fit mine better. I'm absurdly flattered, so go and read it. Then review. NOW.

Anyway, mis.mira will be back soon, so I should get this chapter updated in a week or two. Since this chapter's longer than usual, I shall expect more reviews. XD Toodles!

Anila (26.5.07)

**P.S. I do not own Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Pirates of the Caribbean, Troy (the Iliad and the Odyssey), Van Helsing, Eragon or Star Wars. They belong (respectively) to Tolkein, J.K. Rowling, Disney, Homer (I think), whoever owns Van Helsing, Christopher Paolini and George Lucas.**

**P.P.S I**_**know**_** I mentioned that Ravara's harem now includes females as well as males. But please note that it was precisely that; a mention. A suggestion. If you do not like slash/femmeslash (yaoi/ yuri) do NOT flame me about it. IT WAS A SUGGESTION. I am not going to turn this into a slash fanfic of Kama Sutra proportions. For one; ew. Secondly; this is a parody. Romance is not a factor at all. **

**Okay. Needed to get that out of my system. I am **_**very**_** pissed.**


	15. 14 Titles, titles, so many titles

Disclaimer: Lyk, omg, I, like, totally, like, don't own, like, Lord of the, like, Rings. It belongs to, like, the old geezer…like, Tolkein? I, like, hope he, like, lives on for, like, 4everrr!!! OMG SMILEY FACE! And I, like, hope that, like, there's another, like, movie, just for, like, Legolas, on his own, like, Quest for Love, which will, like, end when he finds, me, Destiny Fushigi Yuugi Sushi – wait! What are, like, you, like, doing? Don't, like, press that button – like, NOOOOOOO!!!!!

Ahem.

Warning: Well, I suppose it's a bit too late to warn you about the disclaimer. My apologies; a Sue got into my computer, and it took some time before I finally deleted her. But I _can_ warn you about the SuperSue, the mini-SuperSue-to-be, some mild profanity, and pink paint.

Wow. I've never been so …prepared! Chapter 12 has been posted a few days ago, and I've already finished chapter 13. (31 May 2007) And speaking of chapter 13; how was _that_ for a surprise? Granted, the surprise isn't exactly pleasant, and I did spend most of the chapter dithering…ah well. It served my purpose anyway.

On with the fun! (For me, anyhow D)

OoOoOoOoOo

(_This is the next day_…)

Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly's_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera, had never felt happier. Sure, he didn't care for much except conquering Middle-Earth – or, at least, that was what everyone believed. They didn't know that he actually liked gardening, and reading romance novels by candlelight, and that he actually wanted a nice quiet life after all his conquering – a wife and kids and a Warg and a white picket fence around his castle. That was all, not too much to ask for, surely?

And his sweetie-darling-baby-dear, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, had made it all come true! (Except the picket fence part, but he had time next weekend. You know, after he mowed the lawn.)

OoOoOoOoOo

Legolas Thranduillion, Prince of Mirkwood, Elf-boy, Winner-of-drinking-contests-with-dwarves, Koss' Pet, Emissary of the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood, Killer-of-Mûmakil, Torturer of Sues (ToS), Delight of the Fangirls, Traitor Extraordinaire, Head of the heart-HAREM-heart, and so on and so forth had never felt happier. His sweetie-darling-baby-dear, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, had made him the luckiest Elf in all of Middle-Earth. And why not? She had just announced that she was with child. And although she had sat next to that _Sauron_ (more like Sour-on) at the feast, she had told him that it was his own.

How exciting! Time to think of names…How about Ravarastwinklegolas? Legocutiepie? Chloelegoravarastwingreenleaflaskletoecutiepie? That last one was nice. Maybe he'd ask his hunny-bunny what she thought of it…

OoOoOoOoOo

Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Elfstone, Strider, Thorongil, Estel, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Longshanks, the Dunadan, wielder of the sword of Elendil, sodding-heir-of-Isildur, Gornie-kins, His Royal Soddingness, Owner of The Ring of Barahir, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, The would-be King of the Reunited Kingdoms if Karma Didn't Suck, Bearer of the Star of the North, The One Of Too Many Names, Envinyatar (the Renewer), He-who-beats-Death-to-a-pulp, Just Add Water, etc, etc had never felt happier. Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie (bless the pink flowers!) or – as he called her during their 'private time' (GAG) – sweetie-darling-baby-dear, was pregnant with his child!

But for now he had to find a Healer…no, no, a _doctor_. He kept on dreaming about some ugly Elvish woman called Arwen. How very odd.

And what in the Valar's name was the Evenstar?

OoOoOoOoOo

Frodo, Heir of Bilbo Baggins, Rightful Owner of Bag End, Wielder of the Puppy-Dog Eyes of DOOM, Nine-and-three-quarter-eth Nazgûl, ex-Ringbearer of the ex-Fellowship, Boss of Samwise Gamgee, the Fangirls' Blue Eyed Boy – er, Hobbit, The one Stabbed by a Morgul Blade, you get my point, had never felt happier.

Why? It was simple really. The fact that his sweetie-darling-baby-dear, commonly known as Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, had assured him that he was the sire of their child – it was a leap for all Hobbit-kind!

Really, it would dispel all those silly prejudices about height! Couldn't they see that Hobbits had the same (if not better) stamina as all Big People? And it was painfully obvious that big feet equalled big – (**1**)

OoOoOoOoOo

Faramir, Brother of Boromir (BoB), His Hottieness, Would-be Marrier of Shield-Maidens, Spare-to-the-Heir, Son of a Pyromaniac, Ex-Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, the Unusually Lucky, Sole Owner of the (My-Father-Tried-To-Burn-Me-Alive-How-About-You?) shirt, the would-be Steward of Gondor of the would-be King of the Reunited Kingdoms if Karma Didn't Suck, et al, had never felt happier. His sweetie-darling-baby-dear had shown him proof that the baby she was carrying was of his blood. The paper had looked like it was scribbled on with lipstick, but Faramir knew better.

His Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie would never lie to him. He picked a bunch of pink flowers and inhaled their scent deeply. Briefly he wondered why his lovey-kins didn't have blond hair and didn't carry a shield…but that thought was whisked away and locked securely.

OoOoOoOoOo

Figwit (**F**rodo **I**s **G**reat – **W**ho **I**s **T**hat?), His Anonymousness, The Acronym Elf, Founder of I-Am-Better-Than-Legolas fan club, The GoodyGumdrop, Bane of Legolas, The Silent One, ex-Escort of Arwen, Hummer of (his own) Theme Songs, the Show Offy Elf, Winner of the _Fangirls' Fortnightly_ Most Affronted Face, and so and so forth, etcetera, etcetera, had never felt happier. His sweetie-darling-baby-dear may have seen his brother a few times, but it was obvious who she actually loved. After all, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was carrying Figwit's baby. Not his _brother's._

Right now he was going to choose a name (that was better than Legolas' suggestions), pick out clothes (that were better than Legolas' choices), and then decide on a suitable gift for the child (which would undoubtedly outshine Legolas').

Then he would proceed to find Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie and show her how much he loved her. He was without question better at _that_ than his brother. (Once again, GAG)

OoOoOoOoOo

Eomer, son of Eomund, Overprotective Older Brother of the Shieldmaiden of Rohan, the would-be King of Rohan if Karma didn't suck, The Rohirric Rohirrim, Horseman, War-mongerer, Wearer of Horsehair, Helmet Dude, ad nauseam, had never felt happier. Not even the time his cousin had died and he had been proclaimed heir to the throne of Rohan could compare to _this_! (**2**)

Being announced King was one thing (and he knew he _was_ King, because his stupid Uncle had died at the hands of the Witch King) but being told that he was the sire of his sweetie-darling-baby-dear's (soon-to-be-wife, once he made Chloe see sense and sign divorce papers) child was, lyk, the best thing evah!

And he was sooo getting his future heir a pony! He didn't care what gender it was!

OoOoOoOoOo

Melkor, named Morgoth by Fëanor son of Finwë, Destroyer of the Two Trees, re-possessor of the Silmarils, the mightiest of the Ainur, The Black Enemy, Belegûr, Hater of Giant Light-Eating Spiders, Bauglir, the Enemy, Belergurth, Passim, ex- boss of Sauron and this and that and the rest, had never felt happier. His sweetie/darling/baby/dear granddaughter was all grown up, going to have a baby of her own! He was going to be a great-granddad! Ooh, he was going to spoil that child rotten (much like he spoiled Chloe)

No doubt for a baby present Melkor would present the child with a garden of pink flowers and pink butterflies – if it was anything like its mother. Like, _duh_. He tried to remember whether he had had children. He must have, right? If not Chloe wouldn't exist.

So why couldn't he remember them? Or his wife, for that matter?

Eh, that didn't matter. He had to go (politely) force his grandson-in-law to fork over a room in the Citadel so that he could get started on the gift. The child was going to be sooo excited! And his granddaughter would be ever so pleased, too!

OoOoOoOoOo

The Úlairi, (i.e. The Witch King of Angmar, Bob, Jasper Darlington Higgins IV, Yomama, Pavlov, Taylor the tailor, No. 7, No. 8, No. 9, and Frodo Baggins – Nazgûl No. 9 ¾) had never felt happier. The pregnancy of their Lady Chloe (who had asked to be called Lady sweetie-darling-baby-dear) meant good news for them. After all, the Lady Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had promised that they would be the child's Valar-Wraiths! (**3**)

Even with nine months of preparation, there was still so much to do! There was a baby shower to plan, and the parties for the three trimesters, and the post-birth feast, and the Christening Ceremony! Plus they needed to come up with nine and three quarter wishes for that last ceremony.

And so they ran around, a few helping Taylor by gathering cloth samples. Pavlov (the only Nazgûl who could read, write and count – besides Frodo, who was in the heart-HAREM-heart) made a to-do list.

"Shire…Baggins?"

"No, I have no idea what that sword is for, Yomama. Although I do _love_ your robes," replied Taylor.

"_Shire_…Baggins?"

"Does silver lace make you look _fat_? Perish the thought!"

Yomama breathed a sigh of relief. Then he put away the sword. He wondered why the pointy weapon had been in his room in the first place. Oh! He could give the child the gift of flawless speech – just like his! This decided, he returned to his task happily, silver lace robes swishing around him, ignoring the weapon.

OoOoOoOoOo

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, Chloe, Valar Sue, Mrs. Sauron, She-whose-name-grows-pink-flowers, Keeper and Exploiter of the heart-HAREM-heart, Wielder of Rikumiku Shitzu, Destroyer of Punctuation, Rider of Xena Cutesywutesy Puffy Warrior Dragon, Eater of Health Food, One with the Impossible Body Parts, granddaughter of Morgoth, Dumbledore and Professor X, Owner of the Fourth Silmaril, and so on and so forth, blah, blah, blah, you get what I mean, had never felt happier. This was even better than the time she controlled Leggy's mind! (**4**)

She was going to have a baby! It was positively thrilling! It was absolutely, totally, completely, utterly, extremely, entirely, enormously, unconditionally, unquestionably exhilarating, stirring, stimulating, electrifying, moving, inspiring, elating, enlivening, invigorating, lifting, stimulating, breathtaking, spine-tingling, and exciting!

If she concentrated enough, she could feel it kicking too!

With her Psychic Powerz™, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie knew that her baby would love everything she did. That was why she had commissioned the women of Minas Chloe (except Lana) to knit and sew and…whatever else _ordinary_ mothers were supposed to do. The SuperSue was _far_ too busy to bother with such trivialities.

Using her palantir, she ordered 59 gallons of pink paint from the A T & T. The nursery would be beautifully beautiful once she was done with it. Well, once the people she ordered around were done with it anyway.

OoOoOoOoOo

(_Later on, at the Feast of the Day after the Day Lady Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie Announces She is With Child for the First Time (the fact that she is with child, and not that she is making an announcement, of course)…what a mouthful…) _

It is during this feast, with its poisonous toe-foo and sparkling water – nothing on meat and mulled mead – that Koss, Keeper of Sauron's Sanity, found a way to alleviate her boredom.

Her rifling through Chloe's purse (which looked less like a money-bag and more like a pouch made of Bling™) had produced a suitably Sue-ish pink glitter pen. Koss delicately uncapped the thing, hands protected with gloves she had the foresight to wear, and wrote on a napkin in her most Sue-ish fashion:

_Sauron thinks that he's the father of your _(and here Koss hesitated for a moment)_ lovey-kinny-poosie's child. How _dare_ he, when you are obviously it._

_Her lady's faithful handmaiden,_

_Lana-kins_

As a finishing touch, Koss added little hearts above all the 'I's and an exaggerated flourish at the end of her signature. She then blew on the ink to dry it, and then (seeing as there isn't much you can do with a damn napkin anyway) wadded the napkin into a ball and tossed it at Legolas Thranduillion's head. Luckily, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was too distracted by her reflection in Sauron's newly polished armour to actually notice.

The Elf-princeling's face was amusing to watch, turning several interesting shades before he set his jaw grimly and met her eyes. His glazed vision did not take in Koss' smirk, mistaking it for a simper of loyalty to the true father of her Queen. He turned just in time to see Sauron kiss _his_ lovey-wuvey. That was it. His decision was made. He stood and strode to the table.

"Leggy-chan, what are you doing?"

Koss had never heard that particular pet-name aloud, (she _had_ seen it in writing, of course) and now concluded at it was _ridiculous_, with a capital R, I, and DICULOUS. She didn't succeed in smothering her laughter, and doubted anyone would have noticed if she laughed outright.

Legolas turned to her. "My La – I mean, dear handmaiden, may I borrow your glove?"

Koss was entertained to hear that he still did not call her 'Lady', although she wondered why _that_ particular influence remained. Perhaps her threat had simply been too traumatic. She did, however, slide a glove off her hand and hand it to Legolas. She was curious to know what would happen next, and her smirk confirmed that.

He bowed (and not even memories of her past could draw Koss away from his actions) and turned to Sauron, the Lord of the Rings, the…well, you know. He gripped the glove lightly in one hand, and waited for the Dark Lord to turn to him before he acted. With all the catlike grace his race implied, if Elves were cats (which they were not, but I digress) Legolas lifted the glove, swung it in an arc, and –

_Hit Sauron on the cheek_.

"I challenge you to a duel."

Sauron did not offer a _trace_ of emotion, and Koss approved of that. He had not lost everything, although Chloe had reduced to him to a snivelling shadow of his former self. After all, he was the Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord of the Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Ea – uh. Sorry.

Anyway, the Maiar stood coolly, towering over the Elf. He calmly detached his gauntlet, in all its sharp and pointy glory, and struck Legolas in the same way he had been hit. Blood stained the span-deks Legolas was wearing.

"I ACCEPT."

OoOoOoOoOo

Breakfast was usually a peaceful affair. Sure, the post owls did tend to crowd around a few choice students, but Sues usually waited until feasts to do anything dramatic. It meant that there was a full audience. So all the students were a little more relaxed than usual, especially since morning post had come and gone without incident.

Of course, everyone knows Murphy's Law. Or, the Muggle-borns did, while the others knew a variation of it. What I'm trying to say is, the moment all the students unwisely relaxed, the ceiling above them showed a churning sky, and a few swore to have seen a rainbow trail that dipped and curved and defied all laws of physics.

A trill of unearthly music that ensnared almost everyone in the Great Hall – except those choice few students, of course – and a beautiful phoenix appeared in front of one Harry Potter, who had just entered the Hall, Draco Malfoy trailing behind him. This phoenix was the source of the rainbow trail, it seemed, and was not flame-coloured like Fawkes. Indeed, it had feathers the pinkest shade of, well, pink.

Does the name 'Xena Cutesywutesy Puffy Warrior Dragon' ring any bells? For this 'unique' phoenix was indeed the urple dragon – who now had the newly found ability to change into all manner of creatures – purely fictional creatures as well. Xena was deeply annoyed that it was being treated as a messenger.

For that was his task. He dropped a couple of letters onto the floor, and might have warbled some more, but a phoenix war-cry made him fly hurriedly upwards. It seemed that phoenixes, like most animals, were fiercely territorial, and Fawkes was not content with another – not to mention fake – phoenix on _his_ turf.

Harry watched the battle with some interest – Fawkes' phoenix fire was a much more effective than Xena's rainbow powers – before he bent down to inspect the letters. One was addressed to Draco, one to Lucius Malfoy, one to Sirius and the last to him. He handed the Malfoys' letters to the Slytherin beside him, and slit open the envelope.

Draco read in silence, then glanced at the other's letter and placed his next to Harry's. They were exactly the same, right down to the pink glitter pen.

_Dear Harry _(or, _Dear Draco_ in the other letter)

_I'm sure you'll be thrilled to know that I'm pregnant! Isn't that, like, the best news like evah? No! Better news is that __**you**__are the father!_

_Your sweetie-darling-baby-dear,_

_Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, ruler of Arda_ _XOXOX_

"This is the forty-third letter I've received this week!" Harry exclaimed.

"Forty-fourth. You left out the one that said you were the father of a pair of twins after impregnating a wizard." Draco snickered at the way Harry's face became puce-coloured.

"Ugh. Don't remind me."

OoOoOoOoOo

(**1**)** Aha! You dare think such things again!**

(**2**) I _know_ Eomer really grieved for Theodred and cared for his uncle. It's just funny how the Sue twists his perception of them.

(**3**) You know, fairy-godmothers, Valar-Wraiths.

(**4**) A reference to Agent Motiel's story, which has been updated. Go read it if you don't get it. Because by now you should realise that Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie doesn't belong to me (Thank Eru)

Short. Why, yes, I know. The thing is; I don't want you readers and reviewers to get too used to me updating. XD

Sides, the last chapter was super long. Don't complain!

Still got suggestions of how to kill the SuperSue? How would _you_ kill her? XD This should prove entertaining. Remember, more detail is preferred, with minimal grammatical or spelling mistakes. The _most_ creative entry will win a prize.

I just noticed that I'm on the favourites list of 30-something people, and on the alert list of 20-something. Or was it the other way around? Anyway, it pains me because only a third of you review. I'm sorry to say that if this carries on, I may have to withhold chapters until you reach a certain quota of reviews.

SO REVIEW!

Alien.


	16. 15 A View to a Death

Warning: A horrific death scene.

Disclaimer: I own a computer, my fics, a bunch of beads and an Mp3 player. I do not own Lord of the Rings, the Bay of Islands, or my sanity.

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss decided to speed things along. "May I be so bold as to ask the grounds for this duel, my lord Legolas? I mean only to make it clear to everyone else in the hall, of course."

Legolas bowed to her once again, and gracefully wiped blood from his cheek. Koss could have sworn she heard Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie mutter "he looks even hotter when he's bleeding" under her breath. Personally, Koss thought that the effect of the blood was rather spoiled by the necklace of pink flowers growing around Legolas' neck. Plus she now had the mental image of a dominatrix!Sue. Shudder.

"I am the rightful sire of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's child. And so I challenge Sauron, who dares believe that –"

"I _AM_ THE FATHER!" was Sauron's indignant response.

"I am, you presumptuous _Dark Lord_!"

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was starting to look nervous. "Uh…Ronnie-poo…Leggy-chan…maybe we should continue this conversation in private…"

Neither of them paid any heed to their 'lovey-kinny-poosie's' protests. Too much was at stake here. First, there was the undying and unrivalled love and adoration from Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie. Then, there was, of course, being able to bask in her never-fading beauty. The reputation that came from being Her lover. Also; the prestige of being the one to bear her child. Plus, those pink flowers and pink butterflies really were a turn-on. (**1**)

Just then, Figwit jumped onto the table between Legolas and Sauron, and struck an impressive, albeit ridiculous, pose. In doing so, he knocked over a bowl of – _something_ – which sailed through the air and _would_ have hit Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie. Would have, if not for the sudden barricade of flowers that got between it and her.

"_I_ am the father! You disappoint me, brother! You obviously overheard my lovey-kinny-poosie talking to _me_ about my being the sire of our child!"

"Oh, please," scoffed Legolas. "You couldn't impregnate an Elleth even if she had a manual attached to her head! Printed extra large, in bold!"

"Hey, hey, hey! I can settle this argument, gentleme- Elves." It was Aragorn, who, for once, looked like he hadn't spent the last few months in a jungle somewhere. He was clad in a fuchsia top with 'matching' turquoise leggings. It was quite a dashing combination, if he said so himself. Personally, the Authoress thinks it's a daring combination, if not a causing-eyes-to-bleed-profusely combination.

"OH? AND WHAT HAVE YOU TO CONTRIBUTE, YOU SODDING –"

"I'm the father." He said simply. He did not continue, because he was suddenly assaulted with the overwhelming impulse to find an Elleth called 'R-when'. Aragorn resolved to see the 'sie-ki-a-tryst' as soon as possible, i.e. when he managed to convince everyone that he _was_ the sire to Chloe's child.

Another person jumped onto the table. It was Frodo, mini-Nazgûl! Of course, the effect of him jumping onto the table is rather dampened by the fact that it was the only way he could be on the same eye level as everyone else (except Sauron and Figwit, the former who is undeniably tall and imposing, the latter still posing 'magnificently' on the table).

"Oh please! You all are just jealous I'm the real father! You're jealous of my **censored censored censoredy censored**!" He started to gyrate his hips and kicked out his hairy feet to prove his point, but it was rather lost on the others. They just saw a Hobbit covered in a black sheet, dancing oddly.

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, however, either thought it was sexy, or funny. Or maybe a dreadful combination of both, the way she was staring at the Hobbit.

More and more members of the heart-HAREM-heart (or, as neatly put by a reviewer, puke-HAREM-puke) joined into the argument. Each claimed to be the father of Chloe's child. There was one (Faramir?) who was waving around a sheet of parchment with a butterfly inexpertly scribbled on with pink lipstick, right up till Sauron tore it into little pieces. The ex-Captain of Gondor looked like he would either issue a challenge or burst into bitter tears.

Koss liked this. No one was looking in her direction – and no one would have stopped her anyway – so she just waltzed out of the hall and hurried to the armoury. She was glad that the SuperSue had not made any changes to this part of the citadel. It had been a _pain_, ordering about all the Goblins to organize the weapons satisfactorily.

She left the armoury with an armful of swords, knives, and other manner of pointy and heavy armaments. It was all happily dumped in a heap on the floor in front of the main table – and therefore in plain view of the warring heart-HAREM-heart members. "There you go – uh, I mean – ahem."

Koss could almost hear the cogs turning in Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's head. It was obvious that she would not pass up a chance for her 'boys' to fight over her. As for Koss herself, well…if she couldn't kill the SuperSue, she could certainly make sure the heroes slaughtered each other.

In a giant poof of glittery-pink smoke, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, the harem-HEART-harem members and Koss were transported to a fighting arena. To be more accurate, Koss was in the stands (with a spectacular view of the happenings) while the heroes and Sauron stood in various poses with the many weapons in a pile in the middle of them. Chloe was situated atop a pedestal many metres above the ground. She threw down a silky lace satin handkerchief that was embroidered and stitched with gold thread.

Of course the lust-struck males struggled to be the one to grab said handkerchief and so win fair maiden's heart.

Hadn't the original argument been about the father-ship of Chloe's child?

Ah well. That is unimportant when faced with the entertainment the situation posed. Koss wished that she had brought some form of confection as she propped her feet up and settled into her seat. This would be _fun_.

The warring males dived for the weapons. It was obvious that long range weapons would be of no use. Close combat was the way to go. Unfortunately, not everyone got suitable weapons. Frodo almost toppled over with the axe he was wielding, and Aragorn had to make do with a tiny dagger, no bigger than a penknife. Sauron held his weapon in his hand and looked at it confusedly.

It was a pair of nunchucks. (**2**)

He wondered what it did. Experimentally, he gripped one of the baton-like ends and brought it down on the nearest head, which was (conveniently) Legolas'. It made contact with the Elf princeling's head with a most satisfying THUNK.

He giggled (sniggered EVILly to _you_). He might permanently add this amusing weapon to his collection. Give it a name like…Chad. Yes. That was a suitably EVIL name for…whatever this weapon was called. It went THUNK again, this time on the sodding-heir-of-Isildur's hard head. The Swiss-army knife made a feeble 'tink' noise against his EVIL armour.

Legolas was not faring so well. He had no idea what _his_ weapon was for. So he decided to take a leaf from Sauron's book (although he would never admit to such) and threw it at peoples' heads. Then he would run and pick it up again, looking out for another target. And so the process would repeat over and over again.

What the Prince of Mirkwood did not know (and it would have saved him a lot of trouble if he did) was that the odd baton thing he was throwing at peoples' heads was actually a light-sabre. It _had_ belonged to a Sue called Lexliamilla Xenophobia Salinemarissophelia Snowblower Solo-Skywalker Chewy, and had been categorised under the 'unknown' section of the armoury. That division alone took up a lot of space, seeing as the Sues had MANY foreign weapons.

Apparently the throwing of 'weapons' was fast becoming a trend among the hero populace. Figwit would not be outdone by his damned brother, dammit! Not even when Legolas-I-think-I'm-better-than-Figwit-but-I'm-actually-really-jealous-of-his-perfectness had a stick, while he, Figwit (**F**rodo **I**s **G**reat – **W**ho **I**s **T**hat?), His Anonymousness, The Acronym Elf, Founder of I-Am-Better-Than-Legolas fan club, The GoodyGumdrop, Bane of Legolas, The Silent One, ex-Escort of Arwen, Hummer of (his own) Theme Songs, the Show Offy Elf, Winner of the _Fangirls' Fortnightly_ Most Affronted Face, had a red and white ball.

"Say 'Go Poké-ball'!" yelled the Elf in the stands. Ha. It was obvious she (although a handmaiden of his sweetie-darling-baby-dear) was attracted to his Elfy-ness, so much so that she would shout out advice to him instead of _Milord Legolas_. He threw the red-and-white ball.

"Go Poké-ball!"

A bright flash of light. Unknown sounds emerging from an unknown animal. A horrible, horrible, scream. A pair of nunchucks falling to the ground.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! GET THAT _THING_ AWAY FROM ME! MORGOTH'S BALLS, GET IT AWAYYYYY!"

"Pika, pika!"

"What about my balls?"

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss roared with laughter. Granted, it was her employer that was being chased by a 'pokey-mon'…but it was still _hilarious_. Legolas with his baton, 'Gornie-kins' with his mini-minimized dagger, and Sauron with his nunchucks. All Faramir had for a weapon was a stick of lipstick.

'When did _that_ get there?' thought Koss. Looking up, all mysteries were solved, seeing as Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was touching up her make-up while on a pedestal many, many metres above ground. She was even replacing her butterfly earrings with fresher ones.

Anyway, the only damage Faramir had wrought was a smear of hot pink across a certain Rohirrim's horse armour. Eomer, 'understandably', was incensed. This was an outrage! He whacked the Gondorian ex-captain with a lone arrow. Again, _how did that get there?_

The only person who could have possibly damaged anything was Frodo, and only if he had not fallen and knocked himself out cold in the process of lifting the axe above his head to deliver a blow. He was in serious danger of being trampled on…not that he didn't face such a danger every other day anyway.

Koss looked up once again at Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie. The SuperSue was barely visible, in the centre of a cloud of pink glitter butterflies. Obviously thinking that this living shroud made her invisible, Chloe was currently digging her nose. Koss winced. Even Sauron hadn't done that. Granted, in Fiery Eye mode he didn't exactly _have_ a nose…and such an action wasn't exactly advisable when you always had pointy gauntlets on. But that's beside the point.

OoOoOoOoOo

Indeed, Chloe was getting bored. She did not want all her lovey-kinses fighting each other, but if they were fighting over_ her_, then that was okay. But they were so slow! Here she was, all prettiful and perfect, and they were more absorbed in fighting each other. That simply would not do. Their world revolved solely around _her_. And what if one of them _died_??

Oh wait. She'd just bring them back to life. Right. Silly her.

But _really_. Standing up here, watching her Leggy-chan abandon his baton and start beating the snot out of her Figwit-kins with a giant key – utterly _boring_. And her legs were starting to hurt. Sure, a snap of her fingers and she'd be seated on a comfortable armchair with a hottie serving her a drink (with one of those little plastic umbrellas, squee!) while another hottie held up a big screen TV for her to watch. But she wanted to retire to the heart-HAREM-heart NOW, dammit!

She would end this silly fight. But she'd have some fun doing it, too.

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, Chloe, Valar Sue, Mrs. Sauron, She-whose-name-grows-pink-flowers, Keeper and Exploiter of the heart-HAREM-heart, One with the Universe, Wielder of Rikumiku Shitzu, Destroyer of Punctuation, Rider of Xena Cutesywutesy Puffy Warrior Dragon, Eater of Health Food, One with the Impossible Body Parts, granddaughter of Morgoth, Dumbledore and Professor X, Owner of the Fourth Silmaril, and so on and so forth, blah, blah, blah, you get what I mean, suddenly doubled over, clutching at her stomach. "I can't breathe," she gasped.

Far, far below her, no one looked up.

"I SAID, I CAN'T BREATHE!"

A huge gasp from the heroes beneath her. Except, of course, Frodo (who was unconscious), and Sauron (who was still being chased by a horrible little yellow rat). Ah, there was no way this plan could fail. If there was one thing Chloe was good at (and she was good at a lot of things – cough_lies_cough) it was coming up with plans that were advantageous to herself.

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's smile was feral as she stepped over the edge.

OoOoOoOoOo

The heroes were in chaos. Their sweetie-darling-baby-dear had fainted, and was falling to the ground. She couldn't die! She was their life and light, their idol to worship, the apple of their eyes, the centre of their respective universes. She was the perfect example of beauty, of compassion, of love, of, well, perfection. And here she was, falling to her death.

Only two could tear themselves from the watching-Chloe-plummeting-to-her-squishy-death induced stupor. And that was only because they were the fiercest of rivals. Or, to use a similar phrase, they were the fiercest of siblings. Legolas Thranduillion, Delight of the Fangirls, and Figwit (**F**rodo **I**s **G**reat – **W**ho **I**s **T**hat?), the Acronym Elf.

What followed afterwards would be familiar to anyone who has watched a decent cartoon on the television, i.e., no one in Arda.

"I'll catch her!"

"I'll catch her!"

SMACK!

With all the precision only Elves possess, the two brothers ran headlong into each other, smashing their incredibly thick Elvish skulls together, and therefore being knocked out thoroughly in the process. The other heroes didn't even budge.

And Chloe was falling, falling…

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss stood.

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie could not be this stupid. Alright, so she could be extremely dim-witted at times, an undeniable fact, but…she could not possibly be _this_ stupid. To throw herself off a pedestal high above the ground, and expecting to be caught by the members of her harem? It was sheer madness, seeing as she had made her puppets utterly dependant on her.

Koss didn't even laugh when the two Elf siblings knocked each other unconscious. The situation was too serious. None of the other heroes were going to move anytime soon. Chloe had not noticed that fact yet. And the best thing was that the pedestal, although many metres aboveground, was not high enough that the SuperSue could just sprout wings. She would fall, and die. There was no doubt about it.

The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity vaulted over the railing. If she was going to make sure the Sue died, she needed to get down there and stick pointy weapons into the Sue's carcass. She couldn't fail. Misjudging the distance, Koss landed badly and twisted her ankle. But the pain was no match for the determination to finally kill the Valar-damned SuperSue. Koss reached Frodo and hefted the axe.

And Chloe was falling, falling…

OoOoOoOoOo

Speaking of Valar!Sues…

'Why isn't anyone trying to catch me? Why are they just standing there? Why is the ground so –'

WHAM!

OoOoOoOoOo

The impact the Sue made jolted even Frodo awake. Chloe had landed exactly in between Legolas and Figwit, exactly onto the hard stone floor. The heroes still couldn't move. Cracks formed in the floor.

Koss grinned and stepped closer. She figured that she would first cut the Sue's head off, and then impale it on a sharp stick. Then, if Chloe did regenerate, she would have a wonderful view of Koss burning her (the SuperSue's) mutilated body. And _then_, Koss would chuck the head into Mount Doom.

She raised the axe.

Out of nowhere, Sauron ran into his Sanity Keeper, and the axe flew out of her hands. It landed right beside Frodo's head, and the Hobbit fainted again. Annoyed at the interruption, Koss grabbed the weapon again, and raised it. And brought it down.

There was no way Koss could miss. The Sue was only a few centimetres away. And Koss had had a lot of practice beheading Sues. There was a sick sound of metal meeting flesh and bone, a flash of bright light, and then the laughter of the Authoress.

OoOoOoOoOo

(**1**) You have no bleeding idea how much torture it was to type that sentence. I mean, srsly.

(**2**) You _should_ know what a pair of nunchucks is. Those two baton-like things attached together by a short chain. Usually seen in kung-fu movies. XD

Aren't you pleased, my dear reviewers? I'm not. This chapter is too short for my liking. Ah well. Review, or I'll sic Chad the nunchucks on you!

Alien.

P.S. OMG, an update! Finally!


	17. 16 KITTY!

Warnings: For those of you who are faint-hearted, be warned. Same goes for those suffering from arachnophobia.

Disclaimer: gigglegiggle, HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!123! my nam eis Fleurginnyus Pottergelicus, &Im todays speshul OMGguest! (jumpies) Sooo, lyk, da authress dussn't own da lotr, bt since da writey person is, lyk, dead (giglegiggle!) its ok, rite?

AN: What's up readers? I hope I find you well. I am actually surprised by the reviews I have gotten so far. Only a precious few commented on the SuperSue's death!

And, I also have a complaint. Why is everyone (bar a special few) sending three-sentence reviews? I apologise if this seems petty, but I'd_like_ longer reviews. Just think about it. I live on reviews. How would you get your entertainment if I wither away to nothing?

Maybe a threat? Review, or Sauron'll bring out Chad the nunchucks! MUAHAHA! PHEAR ME, PUNY MORTALS!

OoOoOoOoOo

Minas Tirith was silent.

No, seriously. It was silent.

Oh, you do not believe me? Alright then, let us take a walk. I assure you that by the end of it you will be quite surprised. Plus you'll learn not to doubt my truth-telling-ness. Truthiness. Truthfulness. Shut up, I knew that was the word.

Now, let us walk down this corridor. Take a look out the window. That's right. The first cloudy sky in _months_ (**1**). Is it not agonizingly refreshing to see cumulonimbus clouds after a seemingly endless period of sunshine? Oh, yes, I took a look at the Palantir earlier and it forecasted a thunderstorm. It will help wash away the SuperSue's taint over the White City.

Speaking of White Cities, I deign to point out that the city is once again _white_. There are no pink flowers climbing over every available surface, and no pink glitter butterflies occupying the air whilst harvesting said flowers. The floor we are standing on is pure white marble, not inlaid with jewels, and not covered in expensive furs. The walls are not covered in a curtain of sheer harem-like cloths. Instead, they too are marble, and are cool to the touch.

Let us continue our tour. Do you hear anything, besides our footsteps? Precisely. There is nothing else, no other noise. No chirping of birds, no happy frolicking sounds squirrels make, and, most importantly, no squeals of MarySues. You notice that you have not heard a single "OMG" or "lol" for all the time you have been walking with me.

That is because there are no Sues around. Have you seen anyone with disproportional body parts, ridiculous names and/or a tragic childhood? (And if you even dare insinuate that _I_ am a Sue, you will soon learn that Koss is not the only one who knows interesting ways of killing someone.)

Who was that who just passed? Why, it was a Haradrim officer. With his proper war makeup and clothes, I might add. That was probably why you didn't recognise him at first. Did you get a look at his eyes? No? Ah well. Look into the eyes of this passing Corsair, quick! That's right, astonishing, isn't it? They weren't misted over.

Have you put two and two together yet? No? You _are_ slow. Come. Follow me to the Houses of Healing. I have a big surprise for you. Yes, you should be excited, you hardly deserve it too. I resent that, I'm not _snippy_.

Hmm? Oh, the blonde Elf? You can ignore him for now; he's been sitting outside the H-o-H (**2**) for some time now. He's hardly dangerous. Unless you find dozing Elves armed with cupcakes particularly threatening, of course.

There.

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie.

Notice that there are no more flowers or butterflies when I speak her name. Notice that she is not being waited on hand and foot by her heart-HAREM-heart members. Notice that her skin is extremely pallid, beyond that of being 'sexily pale' (**3**). Notice that her eyes are closed, and sunken in. Notice that there are bandages around her neck, the only thing holding her head to her body. Notice that she is hardly breathing.

Notice that the Healers are shaking their heads, obviously giving her up as a lost cause. Notice that they cannot save her. Notice that they are tending to _other_ patients. Notice that, slowly but surely, we are removing our focus from Chloe.

Notice that the SuperSue is dying. Dead, seeing as her windpipe is currently blocked with clogged blood. Dead, seeing as her heart has given up on her. Dead, and a trainee Healer walks by and covers her face with a white cloth before she is to be removed.

Notice that I am dancing. Ding dong, the witch is dead!

OoOoOoOoOo

But wait.

Here comes that Elf with the interesting hair. Oh, yes, he _is_ quite famous around these parts. The only Elf in the Fellowship of the Ring, did you know? Also the prince of the kingdom of Mirkwood. No really, I swear. And such lovely blond hair, don't you think? Although I do bemoan his choice of accessories. A cupcake with a sparkler on top – it doesn't say much for his financial status, does it? Despite him being a prince, of course.

How on Arda am I supposed to know why he's here?

You can ask him, then, if you're so clever.

Wait. Wait, wait, WAIT! Stop right there. Just – don't go near him. Look. Isn't he walking just a little bit oddly – like he's trying to walk forwards and backwards at the same time? Aren't his eyes just a tad unfocused – no longer the clear blue that the fangirls squeal over? I should have known – there is no way he would willingly carry a cupcake that says 'i 3 u'. No, don't you dare go near him. It could be contagious for all you know. You aren't exactly a native of Middle Earth, are you?

Don't get snarky, you. Ah, look, he's reached the SuperSue's carcass. Perhaps he shall smash that thing in her face. Yes, yes, you see? He's already removed that cloth covering her face. Ooh, look, she's already decaying. You can see how evil she looks, greenish skin, thin lips, sunken in eyes.

Go, Legolas! Smush it in her face! Go on, you can – oh.

Oh, f –

OoOoOoOoOo

Radiant gorgeousness. Beautiful pearlescent skin of alabaster. Refined, straight nose. High cheekbones, and naturally rosy cheeks. A delicately pointed chin. Two perfectly symmetrical ears, right down to the dainty points. Pale cherry lips. Lovely pink orbs that were her eyes. A voice to rival that of a nightingale's.

"Leggy-chan! You got me a cupcake! How sweet of you, omg!"

Okay, scratch the voice thing.

"Of course, my love. I couldn't possibly sit here, knowing that you were unwell in the Houses of Healing. I had to bring you more proof of my love – a small token though it is."

"Owh, nonsense, my lovey-kins! Come here, let mummy give you a smoochy!"

Let us look away and try to ignore the loud lip-smack-ey noises that would unquestionably be disallowed by a sane Healer – quite extinct in these parts. Ugh. Here comes a giant cake (tri-layered, no less) that will undoubtedly draw your attention away. As previously mentioned, it has three layers, in decreasing size, and is completely coated in an icing of the most horrible urple. There were details covering the lower two tiers (which, by themselves, reached a height of 2 metres, give or take a candle); pink hearts, pink fairies, pink dragons, pink butterflies and pink flowers. And just when you think the pink theme has been just a tad bit overdone, you catch sight of the pink lettering on the third layer: 'Get well my sweetie-darling-baby-bear'. That last bit had to be squeezed in.

The cake was so heavy it had to be pushed by a Troll (a clean one that was dressed in a matron's uniform, of course – don't think Chloe would stand for a filthy thing so near her cake!). Between you and me, the flavour of the cake is not a usual one – no _normal_ chocolate or carrot or tiramisu for Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, oh no. This was a horse flavoured cake. That Sam. Always thinking up new-fangled, ground-breaking recipes.

But this digression does not matter, no! What matters is that the lights have dimmed (although it is, once again, blindingly sunny outside) and spotlights seem to have zeroed in on the monster cake. Never mind that there is no electricity – and therefore no bulbs or circuits – in Arda.

A burst of glitter, and Figwit emerged from the cake, clad in nothing but a spangly thong. And as a side note dear readers, the Authoress is trying to suppress bile after typing that…that…_EVIL_ sentence.

"Surprise!"

"ZOMG, FIGGY! YOU'RE SO SWEEEET! COME AND GIVE ME SOME SUGAR!"

Any mildly intelligent person (human or otherwise) should be able to conclude that the SuperSue was _not_ talking about the cake.

OoOoOoOoOo

"…and the lesson today is how to die…" Koss sang under her breath (**4**). She was happy today – understatement of the millennium – and for good reason. The SuperSue was dead, what more could she wish for? A lot, sure, but that wasn't the point. Koss had a noisemaker in one hand, and a colourful party hat perched on her head at a jaunty angle. In her other hand she held a bottle, having brought out the Dorwinion (**5**) she saved for special occasions. She had already sent for a tray of treats to be brought to the H-o-H.

After all, she couldn't very well celebrate over the corpse of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie without eatables, could she?

"…see no reason, 'cause there are no reasons…"

She opened the doors.

"…what reason do you need to die, di –" Her singing trailed off into nothingness.

"Lana! You're so sweet! Coming here to make me feel better after that little fall!" Chloe looked as if she was going to hug her handmaiden to death, if, in fact, said handmaiden was in hugging range. Koss kept at a safe distance away, and refrained from flinging the bottle in her hands at the ground, as satisfying as the shattering of glass would be. The SuperSue was not worth the wasting of strong Elvish wine.

The very _alive_ SuperSue.

Bugger and damn.

"O-of course, milady. I'll let you rest for now."

The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity all but ran out of the Houses of Healing, tossing the noisemaker aside. Her grip on the bottle was so tight that her knuckles were white. She cursed loudly and creatively, profanity bouncing off the flower-covered walls as she schemed over how to remove the Valar!Sue.

A crumpled party hat lay on the ground.

OoOoOoOoOo

The Library of Gondor (LoG for short) is not a place to be if you wish to stay alive. Of course, if you are a Sue, you'd avoid the place like the plague. But, then again, if you _are_ a Sue (doubtful, seeing as I have only _intelligent_ readers) let me direct you to the fourth door of Koss' office. (**6**)

Ignoring my digression…

The reason for my earlier statement is that one would have to be very agile to survive in the LoG. Why? Well, let's see how long you stay alive while huge tomes are travelling through the air at high speed. If there is one good thing about Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's rule (and there isn't, not really) it is that there are no librarians about to moan over the dent in the cover of the Encyclopaedia Middle-Earth-ica (**7**).

Here we can hear Koss muttering "There's got to be _some_ bloody thing here…a manual or something…" as she scatters papers. The Head Librarian will have a huge headache once he/she sees the mess the Archives Section is in. To Koss, there were only two types of history – relevant and irrelevant. Right now, it seemed that more than ninety percent of the Library of Gondor was irrelevant to her search. Hence the strewn historical documents and leather-bound books on the ground.

Finally – _finally_ – she found a likely looking discovery. It was thick, thicker than the span of her palm, thicker than a Sue, even. On the cover, in handwriting that was uniquely Morgoth – childish and terrifying all at once – were the words: "MY expo – expli – adventures in Aman 3".

Yes. A memoir, by the greatest Ainur himself, of himself, before being exiled to the Void. Thank Iluvatar that his bad spelling did not extend to that of names, else Koss would find her task unreasonably difficult – more difficult than it already was, of course. Killing Sues was very good and all, but she would have to see to getting a holiday as soon as the SuperSue was killed.

Koss shook herself. She needed to kill the Sue first. A cruise down the Anduin would have to wait, as tempting as it sounded.

_Dear Diary,_

_Omg, that Iluvatar is a big Meanie! All I tried to do was improve on the Music (omg, chamber music – yick!) and he got all angry and stuff! Varda _(**8**)_ was too busy looking at that fool Manwë (grump) so she didn't notice my mad skillz. DX She still doesn't know that it was me who took her favourite socks. I have them under my pillow. I smell them every night. . Hee hee!_

Hmm…too early. And really, she didn't need to know about the obsession Morgoth seemed to hold for the head Valier. Really, who stole someone else's socks to be kept under one's pillow? And _sniffed_ them? Shudder. Koss flipped the pages until she was almost at the end of the book. Diary. Thing. She almost dreaded what would be revealed. I say 'almost' because she had worse experience with Sues, especially the current one.

_I HATE SPIDEWS! omgomgomgomg! I HATE, HATE, HATE, HATE, __**HATE**__ SPIDERS! EVIL BACKSTABBING THINGS! ICKY, ICKY, ICKY! I SQUISH THEM ALL! :(  
_

…Okay.

Koss sighed and threw the diary to the ground. It landed on its spine, and opened to a page somewhere in the middle. Koss made a face. There was a sock between the pages. Ew. Come to think of it, where was the other one…?

She shuddered.

Backing away from the offending garment (and all it symbolised, _ugh_) Koss accidentally ran into a bookshelf. She heard the ominous rumble before actually seeing the big – and therefore heavy – chest falling off the top. Using nimbleness honed by years, six months and eighteen days (and some hours) of battling Sues – especially ArcheryExpertLikeLeggy!Sues and WandWieldingHarryPotter!Sues – Koss leaped to the side to avoid being crushed by the coffer. Though let me be the first to say that it wasn't that much of a threat. Koss just didn't want another bruise. The sprained ankle was bad enough.

Once the air had cleared of startled butterflies (they didn't eat pages of books like moths did, but they were equally, if not more, annoying) Koss bent down to inspect the chest. It was a fairly standard sized chest, around knee height, made of sturdy wood. Not particularly extraordinary, you would say. No, but what catches the eye are the chains that enclose the thing, heavy chains, made out of mithril no less, and kept in place by a large mithril padlock. On the side of the padlock, there were letters carved into the precious metal – and here Koss had to squint – which read '_Do NOT, under any circumstances, open this chest. Ever. EVER._'

Hmm. Koss had _just_ the thing.

She practically ran down to the armoury – I say practically because we must remember Koss' sprained ankle – and headed straight for the Sue Section™. Curling iron, no… Beanie Baby©, no (scary though they were)… Polish remover, no… A bottle of something called 'Venom' (that actually smelled like flowers), no…

Aha! There it was. It was not very often a Sue Implement™ was of the remotest use to Koss, but _this_ was an exception. I am sure you are familiar with those 'key necklaces'. Y'know, those elaborate-style keys at the end of a chain? Yes. Belonging to a Sue called Mercedes Porscheferrari Toyotamitsubishi Volkswagenrenault Harleydavidsonducatti, who claimed it to be the key to Leggy's heart. (**9**) It also, as the Sue had advertised before being guillotined by Koss, opened everything else – including, but not limited to, locked doors, typewriters, bottles (don't ask me _how_, but it does!) and _chests_.

And the padlock _did_ open with a nice _click_. And the chains fell off with a _clank._

The lid flung backwards with a loud and sinister creak. Koss nodded appreciatively. It took practice to get that kind of creak. There was a piece of parchment, crumbling at the touch, which read: _DO NOT BLOW! Hee hee…blow… I mean, blowing this horn shall bring about doom. DOOM, I TELL YOU. Love (with a heart and all), Morgoth _

She rolled her eyes. How very ominous. Koss picked up the horn and shrugged. It was just a horn, how much harm could come out of blowing a horn. Lots, she hoped. Enough to put an end to that insufferable,**the rest of Koss' line of thought has been censored so as to not harm the reader's retinas. Well, whatever's left of their retinas anyway, seeing as they have already been exposed to the uniforms of the heart-HAREM-heart. Ha.**

Koss carefully wiped the mouthpiece of the horn with her tunic – you never know what disease you can contract by putting your lips to something that had belonged to an ex-Valar. Or whoever had had the horn in the first place. Contented with its cleanness, Koss brought it to her lips and blew.

The sound produced was too high even for Koss' hearing, but made the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. After almost a full minute, she was satisfied, and finally lowered the horn of mysterious origin and even more mysterious purpose. She took a deep breath, hand on her hip in expectation.

After another five minutes, Koss realised there was nothing coming.

Well, that was that. No point waiting in here further. Perhaps she'd find something in the armoury, among the Sue weapons. If not, well, then she could probably kill time – no pun intended – by killing the SuperSue with as many different weapons as possible. Hey, maybe there was a limit to regeneration.

POP!

Wait a second…

POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP!

Koss' first impression was of a ring of flames around head level. It was only after awhile that she realised that it was actually red hair. Her next thought was 'MarySues!', because there weren't any Elves with 'fiery-locks', were there? But these Elves were all male, and Koss didn't think they were GaryStus, either. Lessee…eight male Elves…all with red hair…all armed with long, slim swords, so sharp that each cut the air and so thin that they disappeared when looked at straight on…their swords also shone like ice.

Oh.

The Fëanorians.

"What on Arda are we doing here?"

"Hey, watch where you're pointing that sword, Maglor!"

"No, Father, I don't think – are we in a _library_?"

Koss decided that they could still help her, although they were on the 'good side'. She had not, after all, planned for the Fëanorians to be summoned. Huh. So that was what Morgoth had meant by 'DOOM'. Well, that was his own fault for stealing the Silmarils anyway.

"Oh, kind sirs…blah, blah…malady…tragedy…blah, blah…"

"How can we help you, dear lady?"

Koss bristled, but visibly restrained herself. "All of Arda is in danger. I have tried many measures, only to have them fail. My sanity, as well as the wellbeing of Middle Earth, teeters on the edge of a knife. If I stray but a little, I will fail (**10**). So I have summoned you here, in the hopes of you being able to succeed where I have not."

"What threatens Middle Earth so?"

"She." Koss pointed out of a window, which conveniently showed Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie. The Houses of Healing were, after all, actually the pink-flower-covered buildings opposite the LoG. Chloe was currently being gazed at adoringly by Sauron, Legolas and Figwit, and so did not notice that there were people looking at her. The Fëanorians crowded around the window to get a better view.

"How can you call that the bane of Middle Earth?" asked one red-haired Elf. Koss thought his name was Maedhros. He was without a hand. "How can someone so fair be so terrifying?"

Uh-oh. The fact that they weren't in the immediate vicinity of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie meant that they were not instantaneously under her spell. But, judging by the glaze creeping over their eyes, it was only a matter of time. May the SuperSue be damned three times over! Desperate measures were needed then. She knew what to do.

"She's got a Silmaril! She's got a Silmaril!"

It did the trick. All that was left of the Fëanorians was a cloud of dust and distressed butterflies. Koss ran after them, only having to follow the sound of noisy war-cries to know where they were. She did become worried when there was suddenly silence, but that was easily solved by telling the Fëanorians to turn left instead of right. Needless to say, Koss was then picked to lead them to the Thief.

For the second time that day, Koss burst into the H-o-H. The eight red-haired Noldor ran past her and drew their swords, almost in sync. Indeed, Koss would have sworn – if it was in any way relevant to the killing of the Sue – that Curufin had hissed, "Too early, Celegorm!". Huh.

"ZOMG! Koss! You are, like, the bestestest handmaiden there ever was! XD! Not one, but _eight_!" Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie seemed to ignore the eight swords pointed at her, swords that were so sharp that the pink flowers were shredded into bits of organic fertiliser as soon as they grew. She just clapped her hands delightedly and displayed pearlescent teeth.

"Silence, fey lady!" cried Fëanor, looking like he was just itching to slit the SuperSue's throat. "Hand over the Silmaril!" This was all just formality; Fëanor would have rather killed first and searched later, but the Valar were bound to ask all sorts of questions. Sigh. Damn these official procedures anyway.

Ignorant of the red tape of Middle Earth, Chloe decided to name her Elfies, in spite of the fact that they already had them. "You're Bill, you're Charlie, you're Percy, you're Fred, you're George, you're Ron, you're Ginny and you're, um…" There was a very long pause. She lost her train of thought, flipped her hair a bit, checked her nails, picked her teeth, and then caught sight of the Fëanorians as she looked up at a shiny butterfly fluttering past. "Oh, and Rupert Grint! Yaaay!"

A little confused as to what was going on, Fëanor repeated himself.

"Oh, you mean this thing?" Chloe rummaged in the bosom of her dress not-so-discreetly, occasionally coming across items that, according to normal laws of Physics (i.e. mass and volume) shouldn't have been there – think Mary Poppins' bag. Finally, three clothes hangers, some string, five plastic figurines and a potted plant later, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie pulled out the 'fourth' Silmaril.

Maybe it was the combined magic of the Silmaril and the SuperSue that drove the Fëanorians to the Sue's Side™ (**11**). At any rate, they were all happy to give Chloe a kiss each and traipse to the heart-HAREM-heart.

Koss sighed tiredly.

The doors burst open suddenly for the-who-knows-how-many-eth-time-because-the-Authoress-is-too-lazy-to-check that day. It revealed the Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly's_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera, in all his pink-caped glory.

The beds surrounding the Valar!Sue's bed had to be pushed aside to make way for the package that the Dark Lord had brought with him. As Sauron informed his wife (after kissing her and fretting over her numerous injuries) it came by special mail order from Mordor, and had arrived early, seeing as it _was_ for the Empress of the World.

"Ooh, Ronnie-poo, you're such a dearest! What's inside, my lovey-kins?"

"Well, there's the complimentary magazine, EVIL Overlords (with its newest 100 Most Eligible Males of Middle Earth – with ME at the top, I thought you'd like that) and Megalomania Monthly. The actual package is the 'Get Well Soon' meal; nutritious Oliphaunt Eyeball Bisque with a side of non-Gummi worms. And then, I personally ordered lots of shiny jewellery and lots and lots of stuffed animals!"

Ravara clapped her hands again, although she looked more than a little green at the mention of what food she would be having.

Sensing this, or maybe just conveniently changing the subject, Sauron said, "And guess who snuck into the Delivery Carriage? My cat!"

"You're _cat_, Ronnie-poo? I didn't know you had a cat! I LOVE kitties! Where is it?"

"Right outside! Come here, Shelob!"

Koss, who knew what to expect, grinned, and sat back to enjoy the show.

Shelob, the last known descendant of the great spider Ungoliant, gladly heeded the call of her master and tried her best to squeeze into the H-o-H. Unfortunately, the doors were not made with giant spiders in mind (the blasphemy, I know) and so Shelob could only fit half her body and about four legs before getting stuck.

The SuperSue's scream was like long forgotten music to Koss' ears.

"AAAAAAA! A SPIDER! SQUISH IT, OMG, SQUISH IT!"

"Never fear, my love, Legolas is here!"

"That's my line, you twit!"

"Attention seeker!"

"Well, you're a line-stealer!"

"Oh, yeah? You –"

"HEY, I'M BEING ATTACKED BY A SPIDER _HERE_!" Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie screamed at both Figwit and Legolas. Funny, she didn't look so very 'bootiful' when she was like that. Chloe must have realised that, and immediately started tearing up. "Er, I mean – Although I'm about to be eaten by a giant spider, I'd like you to know that I-i-i-i l-l-l-l-l-love y-you!"

This definitely spurred the two competitive siblings into action. Though we shall not ponder where Figwit managed to keep his bow and arrows when he is only wearing that spangly thong of his, else our brains melt and leak out of our noses. Oh, too late.

Pandemonium broke out when Shelob figured out what the male Elves were going to do to her, and tried to back out of the H-o-H as fast as possible. One of the spider's flailing legs caught one of the many torches on the walls, and a bed on fire. Using her OMG SPESHUL POWERZ™ (**12**) Chloe used wind to put out the blaze before it spread; only she put out all the torches at once. Darkness enveloped the Houses of Healing although there were more than enough windows to let in the dazzling sunlight.

There were screams (Chloe, of course, and Sauron, who didn't want his kitty to be hurt – "Shelob! NOOOOOO!"), there were shouts from Legolas and Figwit ("I can see in the dark better than you!" "No you can't!" "Yes I can!" etc.), and then the unmistakable sound of a spider dying. Koss wondered whether spiders went to the Halls of Mandos when they died. She sent the prayer for dead SoS, substituting the line about everlasting ale with blood. And so the spider Shelob died.

The lights came back on again. Shelob had two arrows embedded in her thorax, Figwit and Legolas were fighting over who killed the giant arachnid, and Chloe was flipping through Megalomania Monthly. Sauron? Sauron was _livid_.

"I killed the spider!"

"No, _I_ killed it! You're stupid hair would have gotten in the way anyway!"

"As if your girly braids are any better! _I_ killed the spider!"

"Why you –"

Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly's_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera, drew himself to his full height, towering well above the two Elves.

"WHO KILLED MY KITTY?!"

With a shaking finger, Figwit slowly pointed at Legolas.

OoOoOoOoOo

(**1**) Due to the fact that I am too lazy to actually have a timeline, let's just say Chloe's been here for months.

(**2**) Stands for Houses of Healing, and has nothing to do with water. :-x

(**3**) Being an Author means having to write icky sentences like that. Gah!

(**4**) Lyrics from the song "I Don't Like Mondays" by the Boomtown Rats. That means I don't own it.

(**5**) Not sure about the spelling, so if anyone knows, don't hesitate to share (in a REVIEW!!! XD) - **edit**, yes, I've changed it. Thanks Ainu Laire.

(**6**) You remember, the one that leads outside.

(**7**) A very bad spoof of the Encyclopaedia Britannica.

(**8**) Fili threatened me if I revealed that Luthien was the grandmother of Chloe. So I shift Morgoth's love interest to Varda! 3

(**9**) I absolutely hated this line. Blame mis.mira. DX

(**10**) I am the butcher of movie lines! PI-I34r m3!

(**11**) Sue's Side™ equals 'Dark' Side. And here 'Dark' means pink, fluffy, and butterflies.

(**12**) Doesn't belong to me – it is from the story "The Mary Sues Cometh" in the HP section. Borrowed _with_ permission, so there.

Yay! Longest chapter, with the most amount of footnotes. Nyahaha! You didn't think I'd let the Sue _die_, did you?

This chapter I dedicate to Fili, who has done the first fanart of this story (that I know of, anyway) of both Koss and beingchasedbyPikachu!Sauron. Yay for Fili. 3

REVIEW! Or I'll update late(r than usual!)

Alien.


	18. 17 A Very Well Deserved Torture

Disclaimer: You know; I don't own a lot of things. I don't own Sauron, I don't own Koss, I don't own Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie (thank Iluvatar!), I don't own Figwit and I don't own the theory of MarySues. I don't even own LoTR. The only thing I _do_ own is this story concept. And some other stuff.

Warning: Why should I give you a warning? I should be given a warning – about angry reviewers.

A/N: Alluding of course to the warning above, I am well hidden in my fort. Why? I am well aware that I replied to all your reviews in chapter 15 proclaiming the SuperSue dead. And then I bring her back from the dead in the next chapter. Heh. Rather than beg for your forgiveness (because I won't get it) here is chapter 17 – hopefully up faster than the last.

Extra warning: **This chapter contains gore – detailed gore, worse than anything that has been written so far. I doubt anyone is too squeamish (I have reason to believe that my readers are quite sadistic) but I will mark the beginning and ending of the especially gory parts with a bold scene separator. Like so – OoOoOoOoOo.**

OoOoOoOoOo

It was another perfect dawn of another perfect day of the perfect existence of the _extremely_ perfect Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie.

'And life is good!' thought Chloe, and giggled.

Why wouldn't it be? She was naturally stunning, and had a great figure to boot. She was married to the freakin' ruler of the world. She had a Harem of Hotties™, the members of which included Leggy-chan, Gornie-kins and Figwit-kun. (**1**) She had a loyal handmaiden who was always giving the nicest gifts, and wasn't in any way jealous of Chloe. And, she was expecting a child, a creation of utter perfection – though not as perfect as her. _Duh_.

She was currently standing out on the citadel, on the embrasure, the White Tower as her backdrop as she stared out over the Fields of Pelennor. Oh, did I mention? Sauron's statue had been replaced with one of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, with little miniatures of the various races of Middle-Earth (excluding the ugly ones) looking up at her face with various expressions of awe and wonder. (**2**)

So engrossed was the SuperSue in the overseeing of _her_ Arda, that she almost didn't feel the tap on her shoulder. She turned.

Her first thought was that this newcomer would not go amiss in the heart-HAREM-heart, looking up a few inches to meet his blue eyes (Chloe being six feet tall). Sure, he was rather slim – rail thin, really – and his hair _could_ be better, if he let her get at it – right now it looked like a dark blonde electrocuted mop. Not the most fashionable hairdo, but everyone had their shortcomings. Except Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, of course. But then again, she was special. She giggled again.

Someone cleared their throat. Chloe looked down, and finally noticed the _other_ person.

She also had blue eyes. If she had more brains to comprehend such things – or, indeed, if she _cared_ - Ravara would have thought that the two strangers were related to each other – if, of course, the two of them shared more similarities than that of their eye colour. In fact, it could be said that the only parallels between them were their love for torture and their sense of humour. But _that,_ dear readers, shall be thoroughly explored at a later time.

Oh, and just in case you were wondering, they _are_ siblings.

"Are you Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie?" the shorter one asked, and Chloe noticed for the first time that she was holding a shield, and had a short sword at her hip.

"Of course," the Valar!Sue said haughtily, looking down her nose at the…human, she realised. How odd. But how dare any being, Man or Elf, not know the beauty that was Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie? She would let this Woman live for now, while she thought of something suitably wicked for her to do. Maybe make her work in the Library of Gondor. But oh wait! Since she was carrying weapons, she could work under Koss! They'd be like twins (ya know, since they both have _azure orbs_ and _chocolate tresses_), once this girl's hair grew out. A lot.

"Do you know who _we_ are?" This time it was the Man who asked, as he jammed a tan baseball cap on his head. Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie barely recognised the 'Transformers' symbol on its front.

"Wellll…you're probably here to bask in my presence anyway…" Ravara paused to twitter. "But I can offer you a place in my heart-HAREM-heart." (The Man turned green at this. Chloe didn't notice.) "While _you_" – this directed at the shortest person there – "are probably here to help dear Lana-kins. Goodness knows she deserves it, for being _such_ a sweetie! Am I right?"

The girl opposite her bared her teeth, but Chloe mistook it as a smile. "I guess you could say I'm helping Ko – Lana-kins."

And then she smashed her shield into the SuperSue's face. Incidentally, I would like to point out that shields are especially good for bashing in Sues' perfect little noses. And that is what it did. Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie reeled from the attack, clutching at her face, blood seeping through her fingers and turning her oh-so-white dress red.

"Wh-what's _wrong_ with you!" Chloe shrieked, panicking at the sight of her own blood. Omg, blood _stains_! And, omg, what about her nose! That – that – _girl_ shouldn't have been able to even touch her perfect-ness! And, omg, it _hurt_!

"I told you. We're helping Lana-kins. My name is Fili, and this is my brother, Bree."

Bree smiled, hinting at a set of sharp canines, and drew his rapier. "And we are here to kill you, Ravara."

The rapier was a thing of beauty, all silver filigree and detail of vines climbing up the blade. The leaves glinted green, as if someone had shaved off thin slices of an emerald and carved facets on them. The blade itself was well cared of, gleaming and wickedly sharp, and embedded itself in the SuperSue's shoulder. Bree's hand gripped the other end of said rapier, and his feral smile showed off his vampire-like teeth perfectly.

Chloe dropped to her knees in pain, wondering where her heroes were…and wondering why these two humans could inflict so much damage on her, when she had never been beaten before in combat. I mean, Rikumiku Shitzu was a much better sword than the dinky one wielded by a _boy_ who – this particular train of thought was abandoned as the 'dinky' rapier was slowly twisted, eliciting more pain.

Fili was happily whistling a tune while cleaning Sue blood off her shield. She had been good friends with the Dwarves (which explained the name, really – XD) and surprisingly they had given her the shield with its matching short sword. It might have had something to do with the fact that Fili had mentioned going after a MarySue of mythical proportions (and I don't mean the bra size, either). The shield was mithril, quite rare among the Dwarves, who instead favoured wooden shields reinforced with metal bands. It had an intaglio decoration of a delicate twining poison ivy, much like the design on her brother's rapier, and she hated getting dried blood in between the engravings.

Bree had almost turned his rapier a full circle when his sister told him that they'd better get going. He grinned again, knowing exactly where to.

Both siblings each took one of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's legs and proceeded to drag her off the citadel, down the tunnel, past the stables, past the LoG, past the H-o-H, and, well, down the six remaining levels of the "Tower of Guard" – which, if you remember, is the name of the city, before 'Mrs' Sauron came along. (**3**)

And speaking of the false spouse, the silly bint was currently screaming her head off. This is because although MarySues undoubtedly have extremely hard heads, it is quite painful to have one's head dragged on the floor, heedless of any stairs or sharp corners. Or so I assume, anyway. She could just be making a fuss for no reason, hoping to deafen her attackers. Her shrieks were louder whenever her over-embellished 'tresses' got caught in something. Fili and Bree just tugged harder until the hair ripped itself from the SuperSue's head in clumps.

The streets were unnervingly empty. Not one person was to be seen, and therefore there was no one to come to the SuperSue's aid. Her screaming echoed eerily in the deserted alleyways and side paths. Fili and Bree continued on regardless, casually conversing between each other. Let us listen in. I'm sure our ears could use the rest from the Valar!Sue's screeches.

"So why aren't we going to Koss' office and actually helping her kill this **censored**?"

Bree sighed tiredly. "I _just _explained it to you earlier."

His sister rolled her eyes and pushed her hair out of her face and behind her ear. "Explain again, then. I must not have heard you. Not over _her_ screams, anyway."

Another sigh. "Alright. We both know that Koss is currently sporting a sprained ankle, yes?" His sister nodded, and he continued. "That means that she cannot follow us, unless she wants to ride side-saddle, which I doubt she will do. That in turn means that all our earlier preparation will go to waste. I have my misgivings about the dungeons of Minas Tirith, because I have _no_ idea what this slut has done to _those_. Ipso facto and visa-vie, we would not be able to fully enjoy torturing Chloe if we call Koss. Plus I'm not even sure if Koss _will_ believe we're here to help. Her luck has not been good in the assistant department, especially with what happened to the Fëanorians."

Fili made a face at that, muttered something along the lines of "Maedhros", and shifted the Sue's leg from her left hand to the right.

Suddenly the both of them jerked to a stop. As one they turned, never letting go of their quarry. It seemed like Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had managed to grab hold of a convenient street lamp. Strong-looking vines of pink flowers wrapped around her arms, anchoring her even more firmly to the pole. Fili snorted in irritation.

"I thought I told you to shackle her hands!"

Bree's baring his teeth at her was somewhat akin to that of the ex-Mouth of Sauron (except a whole lot cleaner – that goes without saying.) and he glared. "Then maybe you should have made sure I heard you!"

"You – Urgh! Hold her!" She shoved the leg she was holding at her brother, then strode over to the pole, drawing her short sword in the process. Pointed it at the Sue. "Let go," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Now!" she snapped, when a moment passed and the **censored** didn't even move.

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie still had _some_ of her pride intact. Her dress was ruined, her nose was broken, her shoulder hurt like hell, her hair was missing tufts and there were bumps on her head. But there was no way she, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, Chloe, Valar Sue, Mrs. Sauron, She-whose-name-grows-pink-flowers, Keeper and Exploiter of the heart-HAREM-heart, One with the Universe, Wielder of Rikumiku Shitzu, Destroyer of Punctuation, Rider of Xena Cutesywutesy Puffy Warrior Dragon, Eater of Health Food, One with the Impossible Body Parts, granddaughter of Morgoth, Dumbledore and Professor X, Owner of the Fourth Silmaril, and so on and so forth, blah, blah, blah, you get what I mean, would ever, EVER, listen to orders given by a short, chubby girl, who didn't even have fashion sense – helloooo, black was _so_ last Age.

Fili lost her temper. Her hiking boots – although probably as 'out of fashion' as her clothes – were reinforced, leather and went STOMP. _These_ boots were made for breaking bones, which is what they did, with much screaming on Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's part and cackling on Bree's. Chloe cradled her broken fingers close to her body, and began bawling in earnest. And, as we all know, Sue Sobbing™ is much, much worse than Sue Screaming™.

Fili kicked her in the head, hard, and Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie fell unconscious.

**OoOoOoOoOo**

(And just in case you didn't notice the scene separator, this is where the real gore begins. So, for the faint of heart, stop reading. As for the rest of you, now's the time to grab your popcorn, or whatever floats your boat. Personally, I like chocolate.)

When Chloe came to, she was shackled to some sort of chair. The chains around her wrists and ankles were as cold as the metal of the chair itself. She shivered – her tri-layered dress that trailed on the floor and had long sleeves (as well as a plunging but _totally_ modest neckline) had been ripped horribly, so that she was in the last and thinnest layer, covering her only from neckline to knee. The sleeves had been totally torn off. I mean, really, as bloodthirsty as Fili and Bree are, no one (and here I mean people who do not have their minds controlled by Chloe) is willing to stomach a SuperSue even in her unmentionables. Just…_eurgh. _(The Authoress tries to supress gag reflex.)

There was a dirty sock in her mouth, serving as a gag. Not at its consent, let me tell you. Her feet were divested of their stilettos, and she couldn't even lift them off the cold, wet stone. She made a face. There was the thundering sound of water that could only mean a nearby waterfall. '_It must be a really large shower out there…_' she thought stupidly. But just by thinking of showers, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's single-track mind did what it did best, and she recalled 'fond' memories of the Jacuzzi Room. Soon her sock was wet with drool.

As if knowing what she was recollecting, Bree, who seemingly emerged out of thin air, whacked the SuperSue in the head with a blunt piece of firewood. Fili was busy trying to build a fire in the hole in the ground, hollowed (using Sue Spit™) especially for that purpose. Once the fire was no longer in danger of snuffing out, Fili chucked in a few more logs, and then placed a rebar as well as a metal box directly in the flame. Bree came over and set up a thingamajig out of a few pieces of wood.

Fili went out and emerged with a pot full of water. While crossing the threshold, she tripped over a hammer (of all things) and the pot flew out of her hands. Bree stepped deftly to the side, dodging the water, which splattered over Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie. The SuperSue shivered violently – the water was _freezing_. Fili got to her feet, shrugged, and then went out to refill the pot again. This, readers, is the advantage of picking a spot that had a waterfall just outside.

Oh, and if you hadn't already realised, the siblings had set up shop in Henneth Annûn, the 'Window of the Sunset' – the largest refuge for the troops of Gondor (so the country could still have a foothill in Ithilien once they had lost Minas Ithil to Sauron). And, if you still have no idea what I'm talking about, Fili and Bree were in the cave Mir-Mir Jr took Frodo and Sam to. You know; the one overlooking Sméagol's stint in the Forbidden Pool. _The rock and pool, is nice and cool, so juicy sweet! Our only wish, to catch a fissh, so juicy sweeeet!_ (**4**)

Ahem. You get what I mean.

Fili managed to hook the handle of the pot on the thingamabob Bree had set up, so that it hung over the fire to boil the water. At least she hadn't spilled it again, as clumsy as she tended to be. Let me be the first to say that they aren't heating water up to make tea to complement scones. But the purpose of this water – and the other items in the fire – will remain ambiguous for the next few paragraphs.

While this was happening, Bree took out a knife from the wide selection they had lined up by the cave wall. Their choices of torturing implements were extensive, but we'll be hearing about it pretty soon anyway, so I shall not bother to list them. Bree – the Man, not the town – busily set about hacking off the SuperSue's ankle-length, black as midnight (with totally natural highlights of red) hair. By Chloe's muffled screeches, you would think that Bree was shaving the skin off her skull, and not just her hair. Oh, wait. He _was_ sort of shearing her skin off. Huh. That was probably to prevent anymore hair from just sprouting out of her head. It seemed to be working.

I should probably mention that Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had been injected with a serum of indeterminate origin and ingredients. I say 'indeterminate' because I do not want to disclose it to anyone. Yes, I am talking to _you_. This chapter is gory enough; I don't need to be telling you how best to sustain a person's life during torture. For that is the purpose of the serum. It did something the heart rate, increased production of erythrocytes and did something unsavoury to the nerves in the brain. All in all, a carefully brewed serum calculated to prevent the 'victim' from falling unconscious or even dying from blood loss or pain, while making him/her super sensitive, even to a slight twinge. The Medieval torturers of real Earth would cackle with glee to be allowed such a boon, let me tell you.

The serum also had a strange side effect of making one's feet look and smell like cotton candy, if taken regularly over a period of six days. But, seeing as Chloe won't be alive for more than a _day_, I really don't see that as being much of a problem. I'm just saying.

Bree flicked a switch on the chair and it adjusted itself so that it now was at a 63° incline, Valar!Sue head down. Yet another innovation that would be coveted by the torturers – as well as modern day dentists, I would imagine. Shudder.

A pair of tongs was used to remove the damp sock.

"Omg, leik, let me go biotches!"

Hmm. It seemed like the serum also had a side effect of making one talk like a Sue. Or maybe it counteracted the Cookies of Doom™ Chloe had ingested all those months back. Anyway, this is all unimportant. Why? Well, because Fili and Bree are about to start, of course. To all those sadists reading this – I know you're there! – feel free to take notes. Just as long as you don't use this on me (or any of my other readers and reviewers) I don't mind what you do with the information.

First of all; bamboo. Bamboo slivers, to be precise, preferably warmed over a fire for maximum discomfort. Now, a word of caution my dears; please be careful when handling bamboo. Although I know you can eat the young shoots – quite tasty, or so I am told – fully grown bamboo _chafes_. And that is putting it mildly. So, be sure to wear gloves when handling bamboo! Fili held out a hand – gloved, because she listens to safety procedures – and a knife was placed in it. She used the blade to gently, almost lovingly lift the toenail of the littlest piggy – er, _toe_ – of Chloe's left foot. Bree was ready with a few bamboo splinters (from the metal box in the fire) – which were tenderly inserted one by one under said toenail. Firelight glinted off his canines, and he sighed in pleasure.

"What wonderful screams," he said with relish.

Fili shot him a look. "I can still hear you over them."

He nodded, returning her wicked grin. "Point."

They returned to popping in bamboo splinters under Chloe's toenails at a leisurely pace. Hey, they were in no hurry. The SuperSue even tried to escape (read: _tried _to. Usually one tries to escape when the odds are in one's favour – i.e. when one is not securely strapped into a chair by chains – but common sense eludes our, um, 'heroine', which is no surprise, really) and kicked out at her torturers, maybe hoping to knock them unconscious and flee – despite the shackles, you mustn't forget. Unfortunately for her, one doesn't get much leverage when one's ankles are strapped to a surface. All Ravara managed was a sharp jerk, which caused the knife to embed itself in her right big toe. Seeing as it was a relatively small knife, and not particularly valuable, the persecutor siblings decided to just leave it there.

It taught the SuperSue that she shouldn't move when being tortured. That, and resistance really was futile.

It didn't, however, dampen the screaming. The opposite, in fact. And, if evil cackling is anything to go by, that wasn't necessarily a _bad_ thing.

Another switch was flicked, and Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie jerked into a horizontal position (179.00000008°, if you want to be all _accurate_. Authoress mutters about crazy Physics teachers and godsdamned decimal points) so that it now more resembled an operating table than a chair. Bree made a big show of cracking all his knuckles – Chloe jumped horribly at each sound. When he brought out the hammer his sister had tripped over earlier, Chloe almost fainted – almost, but not quite. The serum has to do its job some time, hasn't it?

"After you, dear sister."

Fili accepted the hammer, pondered life for a brief moment, and then brought it (the hammer, silly) down in a resolute arc. WHAM. There was a hairline fracture in Chloe's left patella. Her tendons protested. She voiced their concerns, her screams dying off into whimpers of pain once she stopped struggling against her restraints. One feels almost sorry for the SuperSue. _Almost_. WHAM, WHAM, WHAM. And another WHAM for good measure. The kneecap shattered. Experimentally, Fili lifted a gloved finger and poked the rapidly-swelling area. Bree looked on in interest.

"ZOMGWTFBBQ!"

Not the most eloquent of pain-filled cries, but we'll take what we can get. She _is_ a Sue, after all.

Next, Fili stood behind the SuperSue's head, donning an extra pair of gloves over the ones she was currently wearing. She braced one arm against Ravara's forehead, pinning the **censored**'s head down on the…chair…table…thing. With her other hand she quickly inserted two fingers into the Sue's nostrils (which explained the gloves – only Iluvatar knows what effect Sue Boogers™ had on skin) and jerked her hand backwards. The action ensured that the Sue's mouth was wide open, exposing too perfect teeth.

Bree entered Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's field of vision, as limited as one's vision can be while being restrained. He was holding a pair of rusty pliers. It kind of matched the wicked look he had on his face. Never has someone with hair like his looked so intimidating. And can anyone hazard a guess as to the purpose of these oxidised pliers? Yes, that's right. I do not know how Chloe screamed with fingers in her nostrils holding her jaws open and pliers in her mouth, but she did, and quite noisily too.

Fili quickly removed the extra gloves and threw them into the fire so as to not be infected by anything…Sue-ish. She then held out her hands to her brother expectantly.

"Ravara here went and swallowed one, so we've got one extra," Bree said as he tipped a handful of teeth into his sister's hands. They were pearlescent and shiny and no longer in Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's mouth. She would never smile her Megawatt smile ever again.

"You can have it," Fili offered, stowing her share of the teeth in a small pouch on her belt. She would make a necklace out of it later, preferably stringed in between the phalanges of Chloe's fingers. (**5**) "Is the water hot enough yet?"

Bree glanced over, and then quickly went to get the pot off the fire – the disadvantage of not using a kettle was not knowing when the water reached its boiling point. He brought it over to the operating table (for that is what we will refer to the Thing as from now on) and Fili gripped one end of it. They tipped it slightly so that half the water – which was still bubbling – poured into Ravara's still-open mouth. The SuperSue choked and gurgled and tried to spit the boiling water out before it did more damage than already inflicted. Her taste buds were all but burnt off; while her gums and inner cheeks were so swollen she could neither close her mouth nor speak properly.

The remaining water was used to warm the forgotten bamboo slivers – and I'm talking about the ones sticking out from under Chloe's toenails. They aggravated the delicate flesh underneath the nails, already impaled. Angry red welts formed on the skin on her feet and around her mouth. Fili waved an arm to get rid of the steam.

"Alright. Methinks she doesn't need those toes anymore." Bree tossed Fili a pair of tweezers. He was holding a small saw. A manual one, not those fancy chainsaws murderers usually make use of. "You do the fingers."

"With pleasure."

You see, readers, a pair of tweezers is a very useful tool. (Which is why they are included in Swiss Army knives, I should think.) They are typically used when one works with tiny beads and watch gears, and so on. And, no, I'm not talking about the tweezers a woman (or man, whatever) uses to remove stray hair from the eyebrows. Anyway. For a tool that is so thin, it is surprisingly strong. It can even remove fingernails – if one uses it correctly.

First, the pincer-like ends of the tweezers are squeezed together for extra strength. Now this end is run along the sides of the nail, where it meets the skin, just to loosen it a little. Then the edge of the nail is gripped in between the pincers, and the finger of the victim has to be braced against a flat surface. The wielder of the tweezers now just has to use the tweezers like a lever. For maximum pain, this is done as slowly as physically possible.

Fili learned that a scream sounds very odd when one does not have any teeth.

Now, a saw is not just used for cutting wood, as effective as it is at doing that. That was what it was invented to do, sure, but that is digressing from the topic at hand. There are now, as you should know, many different types of saws, with their many different purposes. My personal favourite is the extremely large table saws that megalomaniacs seem to favour – the ones that are waiting at the end of the conveyor belt the hero (or his love interest) is strapped to. Digression.

In any case, there are saws that are used by doctors. They are made of a special alloy that allows them to cut through flesh and bone, used whenever someone – usually a war victim – had a limb that could no longer be saved. The one Bree held – and used – made short work of the toes of Ravara's right leg. And – seeing as it is extremely tedious sawing individual toes – her left leg followed suit, severed at the ankle.

Bree learned that cutting up Sues was not like woodwork class, but it was a hell of a lot more enjoyable.

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie learned that although she had been shaved bald, had had her toes stuck with bamboo shavings, had had her beautiful teeth yanked out of her head with rusty pliers, and had had boiling water poured into her mouth and over her legs – nothing, _nothing_ compared to the simultaneous torture Fili and Bree were now subjecting her to.

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie learned that if her arms were skinned carefully (the skin would later be treated to be made into various Sue Skin Stuff™) and then bathed in concentrated salt solution, they would not only sting, they would **censored**-ing _hurt_.

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie learned that having one's eyelids and lips surgically removed (without anaesthetic – shouldn't you have guessed?) and then having soap flakes rubbed into her eyes was not a walk in the park.

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie learned that after seeing herself in a full length mirror, she was almost thankful to have her pink anime-style eyes seared out with the hot rebar.

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie learned that having one's head cut off and then impaled on a stick to watch one's body burn in a bonfire was not a nice way to go.

Oh yes. Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie learned to _die_.

Sue head gasoline match run like mad Happy Ending.

**OoOoOoOoOo**

Fili breathed in cool, fresh air. Beside her, Bree was washing his bloodstained hands in the Forbidden Pool. Fili was not fond of running – she spent too much time reading and drawing, or so I am informed – but that is what one has to do if one is trying not to be engulfed in a giant raging inferno. Ah, the things one does to stay alive.

"Are we off, then?" her brother asked.

She crossed her arms over her chest, having caught her breath. "I dunno. Where to?"

"Maybe we could visit the Dwarves. They'd love to hear about _this_." He fingered his rapier.

Fili shrugged. "Do you mind if we go to Mirkwood first? Cirith Ungol is a little lacking in spiders, and that depresses me."

"Sure." He took off his cap and shook his head, hair wild. "And maybe we could –"

Sadly, what they _could_ do will not be known because, as both siblings noticed with a start, they were both disappearing.

"**Censored**," Bree said succinctly.

Fili, as she and her brother faded from view, couldn't have put it better herself.

Ah well. Even if their time there was over, they couldn't say it was not well spent. After all they had killed Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, Chloe, Valar Sue, Mrs. Sauron, She-whose-name-grows-pink-flowers, Keeper and Exploiter of the heart-HAREM-heart, One with the Universe, Wielder of Rikumiku Shitzu, Destroyer of Punctuation, Rider of Xena Cutesywutesy Puffy Warrior Dragon, Eater of Health Food, One with the Impossible Body Parts, granddaughter of Morgoth, Dumbledore and Professor X, Owner of the Fourth Silmaril, you get what I mean.

Um…hadn't they?

OoOoOoOoOo

It was another perfect dawn of another perfect day of the perfect existence of the _extremely_ perfect Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie.

'And life is good!' thought Chloe, and giggled.

Why wouldn't it be? She was naturally stunning, and had a great figure to boot. She was married to the freakin' ruler of the world. She had a Harem of Hotties™, the members of which included Leggy-chan, Gornie-kins and Figwit-kun. She had a loyal handmaiden who was always giving the nicest gifts, and wasn't in any way jealous of Chloe. And, she was expecting a child, a creation of utter perfection – though not as perfect as her. _Duh_.

Although she had had that _awful_ dream last night. Oh well. A trip to the heart-HAREM-heart sorted that out rightly enough. A snap of her fingers and she reappeared outside the throne room, where she had ordered her hubby and her heroes and her handmaiden to. She smiled widely when she saw they were all there (Sauron, Legolas and Figwit having a sort of three-way stare down, and Koss glaring at everyone else).

She doubled over, and no one saw her feral expression.

"OMG! I think I'm in labour!"

Once again, oh f-

OoOoOoOoOo

(**1**) The suffix 'kun' is used by the Japanese, when talking or referring to a person who is younger than you (I think! Correct me if I'm wrong!)

(**2**) Yes, that is a parody of the statue in the Ministry of Magic, from the books of Harry Potter, which I do not own because they are written by J.K. Rowling.

(**3**) Once again, correct me if I'm wrong.

(**4**) Who doesn't love that bit in the movie? Sméagol smashing the fish on the rock in time to his singing really made up for the beatingup!Sméagol scene later on.

(**5**) Man, I'd absolutely love to have one of these. Anyone got little kiddies with expendable milk teeth? Mail them to me! (That makes me sound really creepy, doesn't it? XD)

Um…eep! (Dives for cover before things are thrown at her) Hopefully the torture appeases you all enough not to kill me.

I am getting to the part we actually kill her. I think.

Anyway, Fili is a reviewer of this story, and Bree is her brother. They get into the Story because:

One – Fili won the contest for the most 'interesting' way to kill the SuperSue. Most of her ideas were used above, which shows how disturbed (but utterly gratified all the same) when I read that particular review.

Two – She never fails to leave a long review. You guys should see the review for the last chapter – OMG! I was smiling so much my parents were looking at me all weird.

Three – The fanart. Nuff said.

Oh, and another thing. I think I've mentioned having **important** exams this year – and guess what? They're in another month. Next week (24th September) I'll have my trials, which are important because I might be skinned alive – or tortured like Ravara – if I don't get good marks.

So, dear readers, I am forced to take a hiatus. Hopefully I can write in the three/four weeks after the trials, so we'll see. Hey, at least I updated this chapter quite fast, no?

To amuse yourselves while I'm gone, take part in this new project!

Ready? What do you think I'm like in real life? And then tell me about yourself. I'm all ears.

(The very apologetic Author who hasn't even _started_ studying because she was too preoccupied with this chapter)

Alien.


	19. 18 Myocardial Infarction pt 1

This chapter is actually broken up into two pieces. The whole thing was too long for one sitting I think. Why did I write so much? Perhaps I am trying to make up for the long wait. Hey, my exams are over!

Disclaimer: I do not have an official document that proclaims me the owner of all things related to LoTR, because I do not own it. I do, however, have a sprained wrist, but here is your chapter!

Warning: Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, as well as other things that might make you reacquaint yourself with your last meal. Eat at your own risk, readers. Oh, and slight language, and implied slash and incest. Nothing too graphic, I hope.

An update on the word count thing; total number of words 63194; total number words for the actual chapters 57188. That's crazy! 6006 words on warnings, disclaimers, author's notes and footnotes!

Oh, and those who wanted to read the original "Keeper of Sauron's Sanity" by Dagniro Vanaliel, fret no longer – I have gotten permission to post the thing on my account, and so it will be up once I update this chapter. Also, Fili's picture of BeingChasedbyPikachu!Sauron is up on my deviantart account (with permission!) so go there! Link's in my profile.

OoOoOoOoOo

Where do babies come from?

Well, you see, when a man and a woman love each other very much, and get married like your Mummy and Daddy; they give each other this, um…_special__hug_. And then the Mummy gets pregnant, and nine months later she gives birth to a baby. Or so say most awkward parents explaining the birds and the bees to their curious (and consequently scarred for life) children.

In a children's book (which remains in the bookcase despite there not being anyone under the age of ten in the house – besides the dog, anyway), the author explains that after the mother has produced the egg and it has been fertilised by the father's sperm cell, the new cell travels down the Fallopian tube to the uterus. It fixes itself to the wall of the uterus, and becomes an embryo. The new baby grows fast inside the mother's tummy, but will only be born after 40 weeks (nine months and one week). This is the time needed for the zygote to develop into a human being made up of about 200 million cells.

All my Biology textbook says on the matter is that after the ovum is fertilised by the sperm cell, menstruation ceases and a nine-month gestation period starts, also known as pregnancy.

Ignoring the fact that the children's book is more comprehensive than my 'O Levels' equivalent Bio book, all these sources agree on one thing. It takes nine months before a baby is born – a human baby, anyway. From what I understand, the larger an organism is, the longer is the incubation period. It makes you wonder how long till a baby Oliphaunt is born. But that is probably what people call digression – which I gather isn't really wanted in a story – so we shall continue.

Chloe (may she die in pieces) (**1**) had announced her pregnancy – but note, not the _sire_ of said child – about 25 days ago, give or take. Hey, it is hard keeping track of time when one lives in an era that does not have clocks, especially when there's _perpetual_ sunshine every, freakin', DAY. Sigh. Anyway.

Nine months is roughly 36 weeks, or 252 days, or 6048 hours, or 362880 minutes, or 21772800 seconds. Therefore, one does not need a ZOMG-SPESHUL-MATHS-CREDENTIAL to deduce that 25 days does NOT equal nine months. Hells, a preschooler could tell you that, right before he or she laughs and makes fun of you.

Although you'd probably deserve it, too, for asking such a silly question. Please note that I shall not protect you from the psychological scarring preschooler-teasing brings about. In fact, I shall not protect you from the psychological scarring you will undoubtedly have after reading this story. Although I can guarantee that it is significantly less than if you had stumbled onto some MarySue fic by accident. My condolences if you have. I have made that mistake many, many times, and the lobotomy was not wholly successful – as you've probably noticed by now.

This is starting to sound nothing like what you were expecting, isn't it? Don't worry, dear readers, we're getting there. And I don't mean the death of the SuperSue. That comes later. (Wayyy later.)

Unfortunately, even the Power of Logic™, although applicable in _most_ places, seems to have no effect on the birthing of a Sue's Spawn. And, unfortunately, (for you, and for Koss, and for the rest of Middle Earth, really) Chloe (may she die in pieces) is not going to let herself die in childbirth – because that is _so_ not t3h kewl. In fact, the whole process of childbirth itself was not t3h kewl – I mean, _come on_, what was all the pain and stuff about, anyway?

This explains why we can see Sauron, Leggy, Figwit and the rest of the hurl-HAREM-hurl outside the H-o-H, all in various states of distress/anxiousness/glaring-at-each-other-with-the-intensity-of-a-thousand-suns/you-get-what-I-mean. They are obviously very worried about the wellbeing of their sweetie-darling-baby-dear, and whether she'd come out of the Houses of Healing safe and sound. Oh, and they wanted to know about the baby too.

But what about Koss?

How am _I_ supposed to know? Sheesh, why don't – what? What do you mean, 'it's my job'? Oh. Right. I'm the Authoress. Silly me.

Well, seeing as Koss is the loyal handmaiden – _cough__**lies**__cough – _she gets to watch firsthand the birthing of a SuperSue-Spawn!! Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!

…huh. I can't seem to make it sound exciting even with the numerous exclamation marks. No matter. The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity wasn't particularly excited anyway. Not that there was much to see – all that happened was a little pre-childbirth speech where Chloe (may she die in pieces) had gasped about how much she wanted the baby and how she hoped she would live to see it grow up all 'prettiful' and stuff. And then suddenly the Healer had handed a baby to Chloe (may she die in pieces).

It was swaddled in pink cloth.

"Aren't you the _cutest_ little baby?" Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie cooed at the _thing_ and started making disgusting baby noises – kind of like the type Sauron made to his mace whenever he thought no one was looking, only a quintillion times worse because they were being made by a Sue. Personally, I do not see how _any_ baby has grown up without mental wounds after being bombarded with 'gootchie-goo's' and 'do we wuv you, yes we _do_!' when they were small, 'cute' and unable to talk back.

Um…digression sure is a bitch, ain't it?

"I shall give you the bestest name evah! Everyone will be sooo jealous of you, and you'll grow up to be all fine-looking (**2**) just like your mummy! And by the time you're _my_ age, you'll have lots and lots of handsome boyfriends (that I can share too!) or maybe even a husband!" Chloe (may she die in pieces) was oblivious to the choking noises Koss was making at this – the SuperSue's voice was so loud Koss could hear every word from the other end of the H-o-H. Unfortunately.

"I'll name you…"

**Drum roll, please. **

"Sauroneena!"

Cue the enthusiastic clapping. Though, all I'm sensing from my readers is a feeling of being torn between amusement and disgust – or, to put it in more graphic terms, guffaws and projectile vomiting. Am I right, am I right? Of course I am. Unless you are saddened, or angered, or (dare I say it?) _aroused_ by said name. If the latter is true, then I would advise you to keep away from me…unless you leave a big, fat review. After that I will call the good men in white coats that'll put you in a nice, padded cell where you'll eat soup from a straw.

At this rate half the chapter will be one digression after another. I apologise. Sort of.

"Lana-kins! Come say hello to your new godchild, Sauroneena!"

Koss wondered if she felt more revolted at being labelled godparent to the Thing, or at hearing that _ridiculous_ name. She also wondered if laughing while retching would result in vomit coming out of one's nostrils – not a very pleasant train of thought, but you should know by now that Koss is not a very pleasant person (snort). She stepped as close as she dared, and peered at the bundle, which was really tiny, especially when nestled against Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's, um, _bosom_.

It opened its eyes. There was no doubt as to who was the father _now_, seeing as Its eyes were fiery orange – and I mean FIRE-y. Personally, I would find it rather disconcerting to see such eyes trained on me – sure, they aren't larger than life, but there were two of them, and seeing them in the face of a baby was…even worse than Sauron in his Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame Mode™.

At least they weren't pink. The eyes, I mean.

Its hair was black, not quite the midnight-black of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's 'tresses', but black. Its skin was pale, not the mysteriously-pale-despite-sunbathing-on-the-Citadel-skin Chloe (may she die in pieces) had, but the paleness of a newborn. In fact, Koss mused, It looked _so_ pale It was almost sickly. Was that a greenish tinge in Its cheeks?

"_Blorf_." Then a giggle.

"OMG, EW! She barfed on me! OMG, _bad_ Sauroneena!"

Now, Koss didn't have any experience with children (thank the Valar) but she was quite sure that one didn't refer to a baby as if it were a disobedient pet. Nonetheless, it was very amusing to watch the SuperSue try to get the vomit off her dress (which was deep blue velvet, definitely not a standard issue H-o-H gown) while trying to keep 'Sauroneena' still. And fail.

"Lana-kins! Help me hold Sauroneena!"

Koss took the baby gingerly, and wondered how Chloe (may she die in pieces) could end all her sentences in exclamation marks. It was probably a Sue Speech-Impediment. It annoyed her all the same, but she felt some of this aggravation dim at the sight of the SuperSue. The vomit seemed impervious to her 'Magick', a green-and-white stain on the cerulean silk (which had been velvet a few seconds ago). It also seemed to have acidic properties, and was currently melting Ravara's jewellery. Chloe (may she die in pieces) mentioned something about changing, and disappeared in a puff of glitter.

It was only then the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity looked down at Sauroneena, a black-topped pink blob in her arms. The babe had not uttered any sound, other than the small giggle earlier. Odd, seeing as it was practically a law of nature that a newborn scream its heart out to expel all lung fluid. This SuperSue-Spawn just stared back at Koss with her orange eyes. Koss shook the thing experimentally. When it didn't react, she repeated the action, this time with more force.

It_hissed_ at her, baring sharp teeth. A _full_ set of sharp teeth.

Koss raised her eyebrows. This was definitely no ordinary Sue Child. And, just as a side note to all authors (especially Suethors) which probably constitutes as a digression – the word 'Child' does NOT have the letter 'e' at the end. Placing said letter will do absolutely nothing for your story, other than giving you negative points for creativity. It is as effective as the letter 'k' at the end of 'Magic'. That is to say, not at all.

Chloe (may she die in pieces) zapped back into her bed in the H-o-H. It seemed that the dress had proved unclean-able, and so the Valar!Sue had switched it for a lacy white gown. Her jewellery had been replaced with gaudier ones. When Koss held out Sauroneena to her, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie didn't even bat an eyelid. About a dozen toddlers appeared around her, all a myriad of hair- and eye-colour. As if on cue the doors opened, admitting Sauron and the heroes, each laden with various baby gifts.

Huh. It seemed that irremovable (as well as acidic) vomit was enough to be disowned (or, at least ignored) by Chloe (may she die in pieces). Sigh. That meant Koss had to get rid of the Thing. She approached the SuperSue.

"– and I've named this half Sauron Jr., this half Leggy Jr., and _this_ half Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie Jr.! Yay!" And, of course, it doesn't matter that there are too many halves, because they're OMG t3h perfect! And indeed they were; these were textbook examples of Sue Spawn – as well-behaved as trained circus monkeys – except they were a whole lot more attractive than monkeys, of course. Half of them had sapphire orbs, half of them had a head full of black tresses, half of them had pink eyes, while half had – well, you get what I mean.

"My lady? May I request a brief holiday? I'm afraid I'm not feeling at all well." And that wasn't a _complete_ lie.

Chloe (may she die in pieces) barely gave a glance in her direction, and instead nodded distractedly while listening to Legolas wax lyrical about their new children, while Figwit tried to out-wax him. No one noticed Koss walk out of the H-o-H with the original child tucked unceremoniously under one arm. They were too busy cooing at the new children, and 'subtly' arguing over whose offspring they were. Sauron was just beginning to lose his temper when the heavy doors swung shut and drowned out The Voice™.

The Keeper of said Dark Lord's Sanity made a brief stop at her office to retrieve Grond Jr. before heading towards the stables. Throughout the whole trip the babe had been suspiciously quiet, as if knowing what was in store in Its future. Koss quickly saddled a horse – the fastest one in Minas Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie – and placed the babe in an open saddlebag so she wouldn't have to carry it.

Then she set out for Isengard.

OoOoOoOoOo

Now, when Koss joined Sauron she had to first prove herself. This opportunity came in the form of ToccataandFugue (**3**), a 'musically' inclined Sue who claimed to be the betrothed of the Dark Lord. The grudging respect (and, subsequently, Grond Jr.) she had gained from the Dark Lord had pretty much cemented her role. It had also led to the planning to find the One Ring. Sauron had agreed to give his Sanity Keeper both Rivendell and Isengard as rewards for her services – once Middle-Earth had been won, of course. So she pointed her horse towards the closer of the two. Koss figured she'd be safe there. For the time being.

Besides, Isengard had Warg pits.

There were no Sues in Isengard because it was not exactly picturesque, was it? Come on, it was submerged in dirty water, and there used to be dirty Urûk-hai in mud pits! And fire! And there was definitely bird doo-doo (**4**) from all those Crébain! The movie totally said so! Omg, sooo_disgusting_!

Ahem. Carrying on.

After the War had been won, Koss had sent various SoS to clear up Isengard. (Sauron knew all about the 'flooding' through Saruman and the palantir. When Koss asked why the Dark Lord had even bothered with the White Wizard, He had answered "Saruman was naught but a pawn. A tall and freaky-looking pawn, yes, but a pawn nonetheless." She had just rolled her eyes.)

Urkdúsh, Mordor's best Warg-breeder, had been sent to Isengard, with some of his pedigree Wargs. A few of the Great Wolves of Isengard had been found wandering the plains of Rohan, and they were to be cross-bred with the Mordor Wargs. Since Chloe (may she die in pieces) wasn't bothered about a place that had been flooded in the movies (and the movies were the truth, omg), the Wargs were safely remaining within Isengard with their trainers in the cleaned and re-excavated underground tunnels of Isengard.

And, no, Koss was NOT planning to set up a Warg Ranch, just in case you were wondering.

"O' Keeper of Sauron's Sanity – to what do we owe this honour? How goes the Dark Lord's rule?" Yes, readers, rejoice – for we finally meet an Orc, compos mentis.

"Not well. A SuperSue has taken over the minds of everyone in Minas Tirith. I have come to dispose of –"

"A Thing has taken over our Lord's mind?! We must save him! I shall muster the troops, O' Koss!" He bowed and attempted to run out of the room – if you could call the underground cavern a 'room', that is.

"Urkdúsh."

The tone of Koss' voice stopped the Orc dead in his tracks. She didn't have to kill him, even.

"When I said 'everyone', I included the SoS as well. Do you not think that if I wanted to muster the troops of Isengard I would have done so earlier? Do you not think that if I had found a way of killing the**censored** SuperSue, I would have done so earlier? I would have thought that the SoS (with the exception of the Trolls and Nazgûl No. 7) had more Logic than _that_."

The Orc looked appropriately chastised – and if you've never seen a reprimanded Orc before, then it's your loss. "My apologies, O' Benevolent Warden – I got carried away."

Koss ignored this, and asked, "I trust the Wargs are well?"

Instantly the breeder's eyes lit up. Again, if you've never seen this before, it's your loss. "Very much so, O' Intelligent and Formidable One. It seems that by breeding with the original Isengard Wolves, I've finally gotten the perfect strain – accelerated growth, stronger bones and teeth, faster healing rate. They're also more aggressive, which makes training difficult, but this –"

She interrupted the Orc, having gotten the information she wanted. "I assume there are still untrained Wargs?"

He blinked. "Yes, O' Insightful Koss. But why –"

"Bring me to the most aggressive of them."

"Immediately, O' Koss." Urkdúsh rushed to comply, and so did not notice as Koss grabbed a saddlebag from her horse. He did not even hear the muffled hisses of displeasure said saddlebag produced. This is because Urkdúsh is a simple Orc, whose only goal in life was to breed Wargs and possibly die trying to tame a particularly ferocious Wolf. This would not be a very likely scenario if Sauron's Sanity Keeper killed him for not obeying orders.

It wouldn't be very impressive, would it, being known as the Orc Who Had Died Because He Was Too Disobedient? I didn't think so. It sounded like something that would happen to a human, really. And, by the Valar, that _was_ insulting.

The Breeder led Koss to another cavern that overlooked the Wargs. Koss braced a hand on the rock, and leaned over just in time to watch five Wargs – four males and a huge female – tear their 'trainer' from limb to limb. She raised an eyebrow. Urkdúsh was right. They _were_ stronger and more aggressive – their powerful jaws could easily crush the trainer's skull. In fact – ah, yes, the female Warg was currently feasting on his brains. Lovely.

"They aren't picky about food, are they?"

"No, O' Magnificent Warden; they'll eat anything as long as it's meat. They're also cannibalistic; for all that they prefer eating Man-flesh."

Koss supposed with the rest of Arda under Ravara's spell, it was easy for the Orcs to get Man-flesh in the first place. She smirked. And then she chucked the saddlebag towards the Wargs.

Not particularly interested in Wargs eating a babe (there wouldn't even be screams, like if she had used a full-grown Sue instead), Koss turned away and faced Urkdúsh. "Who has the keys to Orthanc? I wish to access the Wizard's library." (**5**) Perhaps there was information she could use.

The Orc was about to reply, when a loud squeal interrupted him, followed closely by several yelps. Curious. The both of them again leaned over to watch the Wargs. Urkdúsh gawped open-mouthed, while Koss frowned. _This_ she hadn't counted on.

Sauroneena was seated on one of the male Wargs, extremely small in comparison, her tiny fingers threaded through its coarse fur. The Warg, seemingly terrified, was trying to throw the infant off, and even snapped its teeth at It, but Sauroneena seemed to be having the time of her life (if the happy squealing was any indication). The other Wargs were huddled in a corner, tails between their legs, obviously terrified of the SuperSue-Spawn.

Koss sighed.

OoOoOoOoOo

The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity left the child with Urkdúsh and a few other Orcs. Koss had had to forcibly detach the child from the Warg (which was named Azog (**6**), ironically) since none of the Orcs were willing to go in, cowed Wargs or no. Koss suspected that it was because they were scared of the SuperSue-Spawn, but she kept this opinion to herself and left Sauroneena with them anyway. The looks on their faces were hilarious.

Looking around Orthanc, she decided that the Istari were not very tidy. Would it _kill_ to hire housekeeping (or towerkeeping, whatever) staff? Even Sauron had the Cleaning Goblins™ – granted, that was at Koss' prompting, but that is irrelevant. The floors in Orthanc weren't even shiny anymore! Then again, it was better than the ones in Minas Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie. It was amazing what difference the absence of flowers, fur rugs and inlaid jewels made.

Hmm. Should she start at the bottom and move up, or start at the top and move down? Either way, it was obvious it would take the whole day. So she sent for food – and this meant poking her head out of the nearest window and yelling at a passing Orc – and then rolled up her sleeves and started up the stairs.

_Two_ weeks down the Anduin. And a stopover at Lothlorien. She definitely deserved the holiday.

OoOoOoOoOo

About five-sevenths down the tower of Orthanc – which, by the way, paled in comparison to Barad-dûr –, Koss found something that could possibly help her. Assuming, of course, she could figure out how to work the Machine. Personally, she wondered how a Wizard like Saruman had gotten hold of the thing. It was more commonly found associated with Sues.

Maybe Saruman had been carrying out experiments on captured MarySues. It was a plausible explanation. After all, Saruman _had_ created the Urûk-hai from the underground mud-pits. (**7**) MarySues, perhaps after being brainwashed and uglified, would make ideal, low cost fighting machines since they were perfect at combating anyway – although you couldn't get more low cost than_mud_.

The Machine was made of a mithril alloy – stolen, most probably, from the Goblin hoards in Moria. It was made up of four components; a screen-like thing, flat and currently blank; a medium-sized rectangular box; a flat piece of metal with buttons on; and a little object connected to the box by a piece of cord. She thought the last one was called a Rat, or something. Anyway, the rectangular box was glowing somewhat which made her assume that Saruman had somehow gotten it to function purely on magic. The buttons were engraved with letters of the _Angerthas_. (**8**)

She found the switch at the back, which made the display-thing light up. Words and pictures appeared on the screen. Distant memories from 923 years, seven months and 25, no, 26 now, days ago – when she had still been under the control of the Girl (not to be confused with The Authoress, who does NOT write Sue-fics – unless they're parodies, of course) and had deleted the Story – came back to Koss.

She dragged over a stack of heavy looking books and sat on them, a makeshift chair. Most of the furniture was on the higher levels of Orthanc. She looked at the screen again. It showed a picture of Sauron and Saruman, the former in Fiery Eye Mode™, the latter looking very excited (if the toothy grin was any suggestion) and holding both thumbs up.

Koss rolled her eyes, and used the 'Rat' to select a little picture of a burning Warg. The little words below it said: _Sharkey Flame-Warg._

Huh. That was…weird.

Anyway, the picture on the screen had changed. It was mostly black, with little tongues of flame running up the sides (not _real_ ones, stupid), and a little box in the middle. Sorting through memories of cyberspace, Koss recalled that it was called a Search Box.

She pushed the buttons that spelled "MarySue", and then she pressed the one with the word "Enter" carved into it.

Almost immediately the results started trickling in, a veritable goldmine of information. Koss grinned. Having one of these in her office would be of great help. After Chloe (may she die in pieces), Koss would really have to see about asking Sauron to get one of these… 'Komm-peu-ters'.

Or whatever they were called. (**9**)

OoOoOoOoOo

There was a tea party going on when Koss finally emerged from Orthanc, a pile of papers under her arm.

The five Orcs clustered around the miniature table (Urkdúsh included) were – oddly enough – cheerful and ribald, obviously enjoying the tea party. Koss didn't see how they could be, when they were stuffed into chairs a third of the size suitable and seated around a tiny table laden with dainty teacups and flowered plates. Didn't see how, of course, until she realised that the plates had raw meat on them, and the teacups were filled with Orc-liquor – and it didn't look watered down. Undiluted Orc-liquor was rumoured to be able to take the roof off the mouth of a Dragon. Sadly, the authenticity of this statement cannot be verified, because the only Dragon currently alive was Xena Cutesywutesy Puffy Warrior Dragon, and well…you know.

What was most interesting was that the Orcs were genuinely enjoying the little soiree of their own free will – their eyes were not glazed over. And yet they were happily chatting with each other and with Sauroneena – who was eating bread and cooked meat, but all the same.

Speaking of the Daughter of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, she was noticeably bigger than Koss last remembered. In the space of 18 days she had grown from newborn infant to a toddler of three or four. This was probably some growth enhancement all SuperSue-Spawn had – too bad Chloe's Spawn – or, for that matter, Chloe (may she die in pieces) herself – wouldn't be alive much longer for Koss to confirm that theory.

"Kaws, come join our pawty."

Hmm. No Sue-Speak – assuming, of course, that all normal three-year-olds spoke like that. Koss noticed that the Orcs had quietened and were glancing at each other nervously once Sauroneena had said "Kaws".

"O' Sanity Keeper…we had no choice! She was going to throw a tantrum, and –"

Koss ignored Urkdúsh's guilty explanations, and instead squatted down so her eyes were on the same level as Sauroneena's orange ones. (There was no way in Udûn Koss would sit on those ridiculous chairs, pure Orc-liquor or no.)

"How do you know my name?"

Sauroneena's eyes widened slightly. "Will my frens get in twouble if I tell you?"

"No. Not _too_ much."

The Orcs winced.

"Kay! They towld me youwre name was Kaws, an –"

"Koss. My name is Koss."

"Tha's right. Kaws. An' den dey gave me bwead and meat an' they stawted dwrinkin' that funny bittewr stuff, an' dey gave me some but it was _icky_, an' den we stawted talkin' about the kyute Wawg thingies, an' – Kaws, can I have a Wawg? Pweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?"

Koss blinked. She wondered if it was harder listening to (and mentally translating) the dialogue of a three-year-old than bad Shakespearean English.

**Trust me. It's harder writing dialogue for a three-year-old than that of a MarySue. Although I find Sauroneena strangely cute, despite the fact that I despise any toddler not related to me. Go figure.**

"Maybe. Why don't you ask your father when we get back?" Koss grinned inwardly as she imagined Sauron trying to deal with a three-year-old. Hells, it would just be funny to watch his reaction to the news that he actually had a daughter, once he was successfully De-SuperSue-ified – something that was going to happen very soon, if Koss had her way.

"Fadder?"

"Sauron, the Dark Lord. You'll see when we get back to Minas Tirith." Koss straightened, and then turned to the Orcs, who cowered. "All of you are confined to the cesspits for the rest of the day – for bingeing. Urkdúsh, you are to make sure another Orc tends to my horse. I am leaving tomorrow."

Koss said these things, and they happened (although the punished Orcs would undoubtedly complain to one another while their peers laughed at them). That was the way of things, when you were Sauron's most trusted, most bloodthirsty and most indispensable servant. Koss would have added 'most overworked' to that list, had she known it existed. Which it didn't, not really – not in that dimension, anyway.

"Kaws, what about my tea pawty?"

Koss sighed. At least the Orcs had gone – if not they would have pleaded to remain with Sauroneena, and in so doing give her a headache. "You can go play with the Wargs." Heh, Wawgs.

"YAY!"

OoOoOoOoOo

(A fortnight and six days later, at sunrise…)

A scream echoed throughout Middle-Earth, startling all creatures into wakefulness. Unfortunately, this scream, although emanating from Chloe (may she die in pieces), was not a being-suddenly-killed-scream. It was because she had just woken up and found herself outside on the citadel, covered in boils from head to toe, her hair shaved off and her bald head painted silver. That was not the worst bit, no siree. As she shakily stood and got a look at herself, she screamed again, louder.

She was wearing dungarees.

And not any old dungarees, either. These were the sort of thing somebody's _mother_ would wear – baggy _and_ tight at the same time, and in all the wrong places; it was covered in horrible polka dots (_sooo_ out of fashion, omg!); and it completely ruined her figure! She looked like a size twelve, for goodness sake! (**10**) That was almost triple her actual size!

Wait, was that right? Chloe (may she die in pieces) started counting on her fingers. Lessee, twelve divided by three…Oh! Almost _quadruple_ her actual size. Silly her.

Well, this would all be fixed with a snap of her fingers. She snapped her fingers. Nothing happened. She snapped her fingers again. Nothing happened again. As Chloe (may she die in pieces) is without a doubt quite, shall we say, intellectually challenged, this sequence was repeated several times, to no effect. When she finally – _finally_ – realised something was wrong, that her 'Magick' wasn't working, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie started searching for her wand. You remember, the one that was 15 inches long and had a silver star at the end, trailing attractive pink ribbons? Yes, _that_ one.

She couldn't find it on her.

You see, the nature of the 'Magick' created by Chloe (may she die in pieces) is such that she must at least have her wand on her person for her to work it. Because her brain is much like a dinosaur's, she thinks this is logical. And by "brain like a dinosaur's", I mean the size of a golf ball, not focused on hunting – although hunting rich/handsome members of the opposite sex was probably counted as some form of hunting. Digression, no?

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie did not panic. Not yet. See, Chloe (may she die in pieces) is nothing if a _little_ slow. It will hit her that she is standing outside her 'palace', where all can see her in her bald-and-silver-head-and-covered-in-boils-and-wearing-hideous-clothes glory without any way of returning to normal – you know; it'll hit her some time in the future. Or when somebody calls for her – which is what happens next.

"My lady! Where are you? I have returned from my holiday!"

Chloe (may she die in pieces) shrieked in alarm. It was Lana-kins!

_Gotta hide, gotta hide, gotta hide, gotta hide, gotta hide!_

She ran into her palace and locked herself in the first room she found. Incidentally, it was not a room, but a rather spacious broom closet, and it was rather below Ravara's usual standards. But, then again, when you don't want your handmaiden (or anyone else, really) to see you when you are not exactly…looking your best, you aren't exactly picky about where you're hiding, as long as it hides you.

And so Chloe (may she die in pieces) sat in the darkness, the mops and buckets her only company, and waited for her hair to grow back and the boils to disappear. She hoped Ronnie-poo and Leggy-chan didn't come looking for her. They would surely leave her if they saw the horrid clothes she was wearing.

Unfortunately for her, that would not be the case. Not…entirely.

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss allowed herself the luxury of a laugh. Excellent. She had not expected this windfall, but it would buy her more time. Plus she would have the image of the SuperSue for future occasions. Beside her stood Neena – read, Neena, renamed because 'Sauroneena' was an extremely stupid name, given by an extremely stupid Sue.

"What awre we doin' nex', Kaws?" The Sue-Spawn was holding Ravara's wand.

"We're going to Phase Two of my plan," the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity replied. They had arrived earlier that morning – and by early I mean three a.m. – plenty of time for the both of them to sneak into the room where Chloe (may she die in pieces) slept. They had encountered no resistance; for one, because there was no one else in the room (thank the Valar!); and secondly because the SuperSue was snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

From there it was the simple task of hauling Ravara's body out onto the citadel (done by Koss), finding her 'wand' (also done by Koss) and then letting Neena run free with it. There had been some rather amusing results – not counting Ravara's obvious condition. The Statue of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie had been replaced with a giant spider reminiscent of Shelob. Neena had promptly hugged one of its legs and christened it "Kitty." She had also vanished a couple of walls (people had been thwacking into what seemed to be thin air _all_ morning), set Xena Cutesywutesy Puffy Warrior Dragon on fire (despite the fact that dragons are supposed to be fireproof) and had restored Koss' office to its former glory.

But, as far as Koss was concerned, the best thing Neena had done with her "mother's" wand was transforming _every_ pink flower in the City into Venus flytraps. There was, understandably, a significant lack of glitter butterflies. Koss thought that she may grow to like Neena. But more of that later. There was work to be done. Phase Two of Koss' plan to be carried out. Heroes to liberate from Ravara's clutches. A world to save.

A SuperSue to _die_.

OoOoOoOoOo

(**1**) Daemon Hunter used this phrase in a review, and it was so deliciously appropriate, I just _had_ to use it.

(**2**) Yes, this may be a synonym for 'handsome' in Microsoft Word. Even so, I would never use it to describe anything, much less a lust object. (gags) Although I have seen it being used.

(**3**) The first Sue ever defeated by Koss - her story will be posted on my account some time in the future. When it's finished.

(**4**) Yes, I am childish in the fact that I still think the word 'doo-doo' is funny.

(**5**) Poetic license. Although there is no doubt that Saruman would have a library.

(**6**) Azog, the leader of the Orcs that invaded Moria - he slayed Thrór and Náin. It's in the appendices.

(**7**) I looked through the trilogy and the Silmarillion (alright, so I used the index for help) but I couldn't find the actual origins of Saruman's Urûk-hai, so I'm going with the movie on this one. Anyone got any information on the subject? I'd be grateful.

(**8**) The runes used for carving because their straight lines were better for carving than curvy Tengwar writing. Also in the appendices.

(**9**) Huge amount of poetic license here. Computers. I'm pretty sure you can all recognise the monitor, the PC, the keyboard and the mouse (heh, Rat). The picture of Saruman and Eye!Sauron is Saruman's wallpaper, and the Warg-on-fire icon and the 'Sharkey Flame-Warg' are plays on the whole Mozilla Firefox concept. I do not claim to own Mozilla Firefox, as it belongs to the Mozilla company.

(**10**) Please note that these are fictional dress sizes. I don't know actual dress sizes because they differ from country to country, and also because I care more about it fitting me than what the little numbers are. Bear in mind that this is a piece of fiction, and anything written here is not intended to poke fun at real people. Unless they're stupid or Suethors (usually the same thing).

Wow. I actually started writing this while my exams were going on in November. Now it's already February. Hey, tomorrow is the 29th! Aren't you all _leap_ing for joy?

I'm sorry. I couldn't resist.

I was originally going to write this huge chapter as chapter 18, but I don't think anyone could sit to all that and digest everything at once - because I had a lot of ideas for it. So (insert ominous music here) what I am going to do is post this, wait till I have lots of reviews, and then (and only then) post the next installment. Why? Firstly because I only got 10 reviews for the last chapter, 8 less than chapter 16 and 11 less than chapter 15. Secondly because I'm EEEEEEEEEVIL.

You may think I'm being fussy, immature, etc. - but hey, I'm the author. Without reviews, I can't function. It makes me happy whenever I see review alerts in my inbox. So whaddya say? Make me happy?

Oh, and before I forget, please take part in my poll. It's in my profile, so take the few minutes to help out.

Chapters 12, 13, 16 and 17 have been edited. Nothing big, just little edits to make the timeline make sense. Oh, and the previous chapter has been updated. Yay. I love my beta.

I think that's all I have to say. Many thanks for reading, and don't forget to spread the word!

Happy (belated) New Year!

Anila.


	20. 19 Myocardial Infarction pt 2

**Unbetaed**

Here we are with chapter 19, which is actually part 2 of chapter 18. **I'd suggest you leave the footnotes for last. Otherwise you'll spoil the ending.**

Disclaimer: I visited a wishing well, tossed all my money in, and wished to own LoTR. And then someone told me wishing wells don't actually work. So now I'm penniless, _and_ don't own the Lord of the Rings. (cry)

Warning: Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, as well as other things that might make you reacquaint yourself with your last meal. Eat at your own risk, readers. Oh, and slight language, and implied slash and incest. Nothing too graphic, I hope.

OoOoOoOoOo

They found the Man called Faramir first. He was fully clothed (once again, thank the Valar), although the hurl-HAREM-hurl uniform probably didn't constitute as actual _clothes_. I mean, sure, it had full length leggings and a long-sleeved tunic. But the amount of fabric used does not matter as much as the _type _of fabric. But for the outfit's belt, the ex-Captain of the Ithilien Rangers could have been wearing nothing at all – stop drooling, fangirls! And, just in case you are wondering, fangirl drool is almost as bad as Sue Spit™, although definitely less dangerous. Fangirl drool pH 4.63, while Sue Spit™ pH 0.0001 (And Neena vomit pH 13.99999). Look at me, showing off my mad Chemistry skillz, yo! Of course, this comes after my exams, but whatever. Digression.

To carry out her plan, Koss first had to make sure the Man wasn't moving, i.e. throw something heavy at him and knock him over. Neena squealed as she sailed through the air, and then climbed onto Faramir's back as he tried to get up.

"Giddy-up, Wawg!" she said, digging her toddler ankles into his sides.

Faramir whimpered faintly in reply. Whether this is due to the heavy weight preventing him from getting up or the Venus flytrap currently munching on his ear, we do not know. Or maybe it is because he has gone so long without his sweetie-darling-baby-bear; he is currently going through withdrawal symptoms. Best not think about that last one.

Koss, using the toe of her boot like a lever under Faramir's chin, looked the Man straight in the half-glazed eyes. So, Neena's little trick had done more than temporarily divest themselves of Chloe (may she die in pieces). That was good; it made her task a lot easier. She took a piece of paper from the pouch slung around her waist, and then held it out at Faramir's eye-level.

"Read it."

Now let us go to Faramir's point of view. While what he had been thinking before Koss' 'intervention' is too NC-17 to be put in words, suffice it to say you all know what I mean. After all, it's best not to talk about such things. He was finding it hard to breathe because of the weight on his back, but once the Elf with the lethal-looking weapon brandished a piece of paper and commanded him to read it, Faramir jumped to attention.

Not literally, of course. Eh, you know what I mean.

Nevertheless, it is quite hard reading anything when your mind is half controlled by a SuperSue. A few of the words were blurred beyond comprehension, while others jumped about on the page like Mexican jumping beans. Hey, do those _actually_ jump? Nah, never mind – they don't exist on Middle-Earth. Anyway, this is what Faramir read:

"_Look," said Faramir softly._

"_Gollum!"_

"_To enter the Forbidden Pool bear the penalty of death," said Faramir quietly, motioning to the archers hidden in the thickets. "Shall I shoot?"_

_  
"That will not be necessary," a low, melodic voice spoke from behind them. A slender maiden, clad in brown boots and form-fitting trousers which accented her long legs and a sleeveless green shirt that left her strong, slender arms free stepped forward. Her silver hair was bound in waist-length braids. She glanced at Frodo; and her stormy silver eyes were so sad Frodo felt tears spring to his own eyes._

_  
"Ah," said Faramir, "Frodo, this is Crystal Rose Stormmoon. What was it you said just now, Crystal Rose?"_

_  
"You do not need to shoot the creature. I can capture him for you."_

_Faramir turned to Frodo. "What do you say?"  
_

_Frodo looked up at the girl, and her eyes were pleading, 'Please believe me. Let me do this.'  
_

"_I believe she can do it."  
_

_Crystal Rose stretched her arm out and touched the cascading water and Frodo suppressed a cry of shock as she vanished!_

_  
"Crystal Rose is a Kelpie," Faramir explained softly.  
_

"_A Kelpie?"  
_

"_A water-spirit with the power to shape-shift. She can appear as both a human and a horse when she chooses to take a physical form," Faramir said, and Frodo heard the gentle note of longing that the Ranger Captain tried to conceal._

_  
Frodo smiled a little. "Is she a beautiful horse?"_

_  
"Oh yes…she is beautiful," Faramir whispered._

The next few paragraphs were blurry, but Faramir forced himself to concentrate. There was something…something wrong with this story…

_  
"You've never heard of Kelpies before?"_

_  
"No, I must admit I haven't."_

_  
"Not many people have, and fewer still wish to know about us. They think we are full of malice and deceit, and want nothing to do with my kind. Only Faramir knows what I am, though it is only a matter of time before the rest of the Rangers find out, and what will happen then I do not like to think. They will probably force me to leave."  
_

"_But why?" whispered Frodo.  
_

"_Because they wouldn't want to share their precious Refuge with a Water Wight. I can't leave, Frodo, Henneth Annûn is my home, and the Rangers are the only family I have!" Crystal Rose's voice shook with emotion as she struggled to not to shout.  
_

"_Faramir would never let them drive you away," said Frodo tenderly.  
_

"_Faramir wouldn't care. I'm just another Ranger to him, and what does one more or less matter?" The Kelpie turned her head away to hide the pearlescent tears glistening in her eyes.  
_

But he _did_ care about his Rangers (back off, slashers. Although I am one myself. XD) – in a totally platonic sense, of course. Didn't he? He was a Ranger Captain, right? Or wasn't he? It was all so confusing! Maybe if he read some more…

"_So this is the answer to all the riddles," he said softly, stepping toward Frodo. The hobbit backed up as the Ranger Captain drew his sword and extended it toward his throat. The tip snagged the chain around Frodo's neck and drew the Ring out from under his shirt. "Here in the wild I have you…two Halflings and a host of men at my call. The Ring of Power within my grasp…" Faramir's face twisted into a pained smile. "A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality…"_

_  
Frodo's eyes shot desperately to where the Kelpie girl stood in the shadows.  
_

"_Faramir…no! Faramir, don't do this!" She grasped the sleeve of his leather vest and gave it a small shake._

_Faramir gasped and took a step backward. "Crystal Rose?" He looked down at the sword in his hand and glanced up at her. "What…what did I do?"_

_  
Her hand slowly released his vest and trailed down his arm to hang limply at her side. "It's all right…you harmed no one." She looked at the ground.  
_

"_Thanks to you." Faramir whispered. He reached toward her and traced her cheek with his fingers. "You called me back."  
_

_Crystal hesitatingly raised her eyes to his, her breath catching in her throat. Faramir's hand under her chin gently tilted her face toward his.  
_

"_Crystal Rose…" he whispered, leaning forward, and –_

Faramir _**woke**_.

"Neena, get off him. We'll get you a playmate _afterwards_."

The weight from his back disappeared, albeit with some grumblings. He wondered what it was, and craned his neck to look. How odd. It appeared to be a small child, who – sweet Eru – seemed to have fiery eyes. Someone cleared their throat, and Faramir struggled to his feet, meeting the eyes of –

"You!" Unfortunately, although he recognised the Elleth, Faramir could not put a name to the face. This is because although the ex-Captain had seen Koss from afar (and this means from the Sue Cage™ during the great relocation of Sauron and the SoS) he had never before met the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity.

"Me," she replied calmly. "Do you remember what has happened to you in the last two-and-a-half months, Faramir of Gondor?"

He did not respond to the question, looking at her suspiciously. "Why should I answer you? You are a servant of the Dark Lord!"

The Elleth sighed, as if she had better things to do, and then said, "Would you like Neena to sit on you again? I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

As if on cue the little whatever-it-was – Faramir was sure it wasn't a normal girl – bounced up and down on her heels excitedly. Her grin exposed her awfully sharp teeth. Faramir gulped. He definitely did not want to get on the bad side of the Elleth, especially if she was using the…Thing as a threat. So, shoulders sagging in defeat, and cautiously taking a step away from the Thing, he wracked his brains for his latest memories.

As soon as they came, the realisation of what he had partaken in forced Faramir to his knees. He cradled his head with both his hands, and said, "Did – did that _really_ happen?" He sounded as if he were about to throw up at any second, and Koss made sure she was not within vomiting range.

"Unfortunately, yes. Fortunately, however, I seem to have gotten you out of Her spell. Hopefully my plan to kill Her will work." The Elleth said all this in a matter-of-fact voice, as if the idea of killing someone (no matter how…_sick and twisted_ that person happened to be) was not a subject of consequence. She was also drumming her fingers thoughtfully on the sinister-looking mace that hung on her hip. Faramir shuddered slightly, thinking this Elleth very different from his Eowyn, and wondered aloud:

"Who are you?"

"She's Kaws!" squealed Neena, draping herself around one of the Elleth's legs. Said Elleth rolled her eyes and removed the toddler from her lower limb.

"I am Koss. The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity."

At once, Faramir's mouth gaped open unattractively. There had been whispers among his Men that a female Elf was the most feared being in all of Mordor, besides Sauron. Faramir himself had not believed such tales, mostly because he had doubted that Sauron would allow such a thing. But sometimes, as he sat around a campfire or sat in the moonlight while on watch, one of his Rangers would tell him about the strange and mysterious Elf who had no qualms about torturing, who directed the troops of Sauron, and who would surely be the reason the Dark would win the War. At this point, Faramir would say something wise and leader-like to tend to the morale of his Men. But he would wonder, had always wondered, if the whispers were true.

"You have heard of me."

It wasn't really a question, but Faramir nodded anyway, and shut his mouth with a snap. After a short silence he gathered enough courage to ask, "What is your plan?"

Her smile made him uneasy. "I will disclose it at a later time. For now, we are to find your friends." She motioned to him to follow, but paused. She took the piece of paper he had been reading, (Faramir shuddered again) scrunched it up so it formed one long tube, and then affixed a piece of cord at each end. She handed it to him. "Wear this around your neck. It will offer you protection from the SuperSue."

Faramir gladly did, and so did not hear her muttered, "I hope."

OoOoOoOoOo

Next were the Hobbits; Nazgûl 9 ¾, Merriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. Koss figured this was called 'killing two Sues with one mace', although there were three of them, and they were not MarySues. She wondered whether Samwise was still in the kitchens, and then passed another piece of paper to Frodo – because he seemed like the smartest of the three. She instructed him to read it aloud, while Faramir held Merry and Pippin steady.

Frodo read:

_Mayrie Suevian sat under a large tree just outside of the Shire. Black, curly hair fell over her eyes and around her beautiful pointed ears. Her lovely feet were bare, in the manner of her mother's people, but no hair covered their tops, a legacy of her father's blood. She ran a soft-bristled brush over her fingernails, painting them. As she was half-hobbit, she used only earth-tones, and today she was painting them moss green to match her eyeshadow. Her nail paint had just finished drying when she heard someone approaching. Four someones, to be exact._

_She stood and brushed the wrinkles out of her flowing skirts and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. Four hobbits came over the hill toward her. The darkest-haired one walking in front, and stopped short when he saw the beautiful lass waving at him. "Helloo Froodooo!" she called. She seemed to glide up the hill toward them, and Frodo was immediately enthralled by her beauty._

_"Dear lady," he said breathlessly, "have we met?"_

_She smiled seductively at him. "Indeed we have not, Master Frodo. I am Mayrie Suevian."_

_The youngest two hobbits, walking with their arms thrown over each other's shoulders, stopped abruptly when they saw the beautiful stranger, their jaws dropping. Mayrie fluttered her eyelashes at them, and then returned her attention to Frodo. "I knew you would be coming. I've been gifted with the Sight and I knew all of you would be here…" She smiled again and beckoned them to follow. She led the way back to the tree she'd been sitting under. With a wink thrown over her shoulder, she walked into the tree…and disappeared._

_Frodo and the other three hobbits ran up to the tree, astonished. Mayrie's hand slid out of the tree trunk, grabbed Frodo's shirt and hauled. Frodo fell forward into the trunk with a yell. Merry, Pippin, and the rather chubby hobbit Mayrie couldn't seem to remember the name of, all shouted in alarm. The talented half-elf half-hobbit leaned through the tree once more and pulled Merry and Pippin through._

_Sam pounded on the tree trunk and yelled, but it would not give way._

Frodo frowned. He could vaguely remember a Sam, and the information niggled at the back of his mind. He looked up at the Elleth in front of him, and his frown deepened.

"Koss?" He thought that was her name. Maybe.

She merely waved a hand, implying he continue reading. He did.

_She turned to face Frodo again and in the candlelight he saw that her eyes were the exact colour of Farmer Maggot's best mushrooms, which everyone knew were the best in all the Shire._

_"Wow," he breathed._

_Mayrie snapped her fingers and a great feast was laid out on the long table in the centre of the room. Pies, cakes, roasts, steaming rolls and loaves of bread and bowl upon bowl of mushrooms. The party ate in earnest, a slightly dazed look on the faces of the three travellers. The younger two hobbits were sharing a bench on one side of the long table occasionally feeding each other a particularly succulent mushroom, or delicious piece of pie, and passing a large flagon of wine between them. They didn't seem to notice that however many gulps they took of the drink, the vessel never emptied._

_Frodo and Mayrie shared the other bench, gazing into each other's eyes between bites. Mayrie ate little, and very daintily. Frodo didn't seem to see the food he was eating, so fascinated was he with this strange and beautiful hobbit. Mayrie smiled and tucked a lock of curly hair behind one pointed ear before wiping the crumbs from Frodo's chin with a green, lace-edged handkerchief._

_After the better part of two hours, when their appetites had slackened and they were only munching here and there, Frodo spoke to the beautiful hobbit lass. "Mayrie, you are truly a wonderful host. But which part of the Shire do you hail from? I have never heard of the Suevian family."_

_Mayrie smiled gently at the hobbit. "Oh, my Mother left the Shire long before you were born. We've always been an adventurous family. Suevian I took in honour of my Father's name, my Mother was a Goldflower." _

_"Of course!" cried Pippin, raising his mug. "The Goldflowers were the richest family in the whole of the Shire. The last one left years ago though, and everyone's still saying she'll come back someday, when we least expect it."_

_Mayrie nodded modestly. That was my Mother. There has always been a lot of elf blood running in my family, so we have always been travellers."_

Merry's head lolled onto his shoulder happily, and he swayed slightly. He would have fallen over his feet if not for Faramir's steadying hand gripping his shoulder. This talk of bread and roasts and pies and cakes was making him hungry. Oh, how he missed the taste of mushrooms!

Pippin, beside Merry, tried to edge away from his older cousin. Merry did not make it a habit to feed Pippin (he was usually stuffing his own face) and whenever he _did_, he was up to no good. Like the time Merry had given him rotten berries, claiming that they would make Pippin grow taller. Pippin had been sick for two days, and Merry hadn't gotten in trouble. That hadn't been fair…

_Frodo turned to Mayrie and gazed deeply into her eyes. "My dear Mayrie, I feel as though this was meant to be. I have never met anyone, Hobbit or Elf, who was your equal in beauty and kindness."_

_"Or cooking!" hiccupped Merry, feeding Pippin another mushroom._

_"I–I am on a very dangerous quest," Frodo continued earnestly. "And now more than ever I wish it were another's burden to bear, because if it were, then I…but of course I can't ask…it wouldn't be fair of me, to ask you to wait…"_

_Mayrie silenced him with a kiss. "I know exactly what quest you are on, Frodo Baggins. In fact, I am on the same quest, for my Uncle, Lord Elrond, has summoned me to join his council, which will take place as soon as you are there." _

_"Oh Mayrie!" Frodo cried joyfully. "Do you mean it?"_

_"Yes, of course!" she said. The two ignored the _thump_ that Merry and Pippin made as they overbalanced and fell backwards off the bench, their arms around each other._

_Mayrie fluttered her eyelashes. "It's my task to get you safely to Rivendell and help you complete your quest. Then, after it's all over…we'll have a world of time to enjoy."_

_Above ground, Samwise Gamgee suddenly had a very bad feeling._

_"Oh _Merry_," came a hazy voice from under the table. "You taste like _mushrooms_."_

The Hobbits _**woke**_.

Pandemonium broke out as both Merry and Pippin managed to get out of Faramir's grip, and instead crashed into each other. The two cousins panicked at this close proximity, especially because of the horrible, horrible story that Frodo had been reading. Pippin and Merry kicked, and punched, and screamed, and finally it was Faramir who separated the two, holding them by the back of their collars, much like the way a cat holds its kittens. Oh, and in case I haven't mentioned it before, after _**waking**_, the ex-hurl-HAREM-hurl members' uniforms would melt, leaving them in their previous clothes – which really were a relief to the eyes.

Frodo sagged to his knees, like Faramir had, and covered his face in his hands. He looked up at Koss through his fingers, and his blue eyes were unbelievably pained. "Did I really _dance_ on a table?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled by his palms. "And did I really say – say – **censored censored censoredy censored**?"

Koss nodded gravely, and Frodo groaned.

As the Hobbits recollected all that had happened in the past two-and-a-half months, the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity felt a tug on her leggings. She looked down and met Neena's eyes. The SuperSue-Spawn had grown another inch, Koss guessed, seeing as she could now reach above Koss' knee. But even with this increase in height, Neena looked very much the same – her dark hair was still short and spiky, her eyes resembling her Father in Fiery Eye Mode™ (except doubled) and her features rounded by baby fat. Koss doubted Chloe (may she die in pieces) tolerated fat, even in children.

"What is it, Neena?"

"Wiwl dey be my new pway-mates? Or does I hafta wait?"

"'_Do_ I have to wait'," Koss corrected automatically. "And I think you know the answer to that question anyway, Neena. We have to free your Father first."

The 'child' muttered something about her "Fadder", but Koss wasn't very bothered to find out what she was saying. Somehow, Koss doubted Sauron would mind that his daughter used cuss words. He would be too busy trying to wrap his head around the fact that he _had_ a daughter. Koss shook her head to clear it of her musings, and returned to the task at hand. Seeing as there were three of them, and Hobbits necks being smaller than that of Men, Koss tore the piece of paper into three strips, and handed them to the Hobbits. (Merry and Pippin had to be assisted by Faramir – they were too jumpy to do it themselves.)

"O' Koss, someone draws near," Faramir announced.

Sure enough, there was the sound of approaching footsteps. That spelled trouble. Why? Because Koss knew the _clack_,_ clack_ of high-heels, possibly stilettos. Koss could not tell the exact shoe size from this distance (it was probably eight inches long), but she did know that it was not Chloe (may she die in pieces). How? Well, Ravara's steps tended to be a little muffled, as each step she took produced more pink flowers from the ground – and seeing as Neena had made all flowers into carnivorous plants, Chloe (may she die in pieces) would have been howling in terror if she was walking.

Plus Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie did not sing while walking. That would be called multitasking, and because the SuperSue's brain is unusually small, even for a Sue, she can only do one thing at a given time. Well, actually, that's not _entirely_ true. She _can_ multitask, but only when doing tasks related to sex. But that is a subject I'm sure we would all like to avoid, so I shall say nothing further on the matter.

Feel the slight breeze waft across your face as all the readers breathe a sigh of relief – Authoress included.

"_I say that blue_

_is just a hue,_

_and anything pink_

_makes my heart sink,_

_while greens are so passé_

_no matter what 'Seventeen' says,_

_as for yellow and brown and white and orange_

…_huh, nothing really rhymes with orange._

"_Anyway, only one colour_

_does it for me (all others are duller),_

_only one colour can set me free,_

_and lets me be me, me, me, me!_

"_Black, the colour of my tainted soul,_

_Black, fills up the giant hole,_

_left by homework and boyfriends and broken wishes,_

_as well as parents who made me wash the dishes._

"_Black sets my milky skin a-glowing,_

_Black shows off my red hair a-flowing,_

_Black makes my grey eyes shine silver,_

_Black – ooh, it makes me shiver!_

"_I know you'll never understand me,_

_but one thing you have to see;_

_Once you go Black,_

_you never, ever go back!"_

There was no distinct tune or rhythm, and the lyrics were especially ridiculous (**1**), but it was undoubtedly a MarySue – every note was hit perfectly, although there were no real notes anyway. This 'heavenly' voice grew louder and louder, as the Sue approached. Faramir and the Hobbits adopted defensive positions, Koss drew Grond Jr. and Neena started humming the Sue's song, although I have mentioned that it is not exactly hum-able. The Sue rounded the corner.

Readers and Reviewers (there are more of the former than of the latter, sadly enough) I am not particularly pleased to bring you…the Emo!Sue. You know, because I believe in diversity, coming from Malaysia (and you can't say you haven't heard of it; it's Visit Malaysia year for both 2007 and 2008), and I have not yet brought Emo!Sue to you. So here you go.

Her name is Gothpunkemo Grrl, and true to her, _ahem_, 'song', she is wearing tastefully ripped clothes, featuring black stripes on black cloth. Somewhat redundant, but according to her: "Black is the new black!" More profound words have not been uttered, I can assure you. Gothpunkemo's original purpose was to woo Legolas' heart with her Evanescence-esque songs, and in so doing, completely destroy Tolkien's character by making Leggy cut his hair, dye it black, and help create mini-'Emo's. But, since Chloe (may she die in pieces) staked her claim on the most eligible characters of Arda, she had decided to stay in Minas Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie. But why? She had not met Koss before, so she did not want to seek revenge on the 'biotch with the big heavy weapon thingy'. She did not particularly care for the city itself, or anyone in it. She had no real loyalty to the SuperSue. So why?

You see, Gothpunkemo Grrl is a scavenger. Much like the hyena and (some scientists believe) the Tyrannosaurus Rex, she waits until a more powerful MarySue is done with a particular hottie, and then moves in for the kill, so to speak. This is because Gothpunkemo is not very smart, and not very strong, and does not have many SPESHUL POWERZ™, and so she can only ensnare weakened heroes. To put it bluntly, Gothpunkemo feasts on the leftovers of stronger MarySues. And so this places Faramir and the Hobbits in grave danger.

Grave danger, of course, if Koss and Neena were not present. Koss would have eviscerated the Sue, if only for the reason that she was itching to kill something. Neena, well…Neena had Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie's wand. And that sentence in itself should instil a sense of foreboding in all of you reading – because what I imply is going to happen next is not going to be in any way pretty.

First Gothpunkemo caught sight of the newly exorcised heroes. She emitted a squeal that should not have been possible for a (vaguely normal) person who had her voice. She could not believe that she was so lucky to have four hotties from the heart-HAREM-heart out here in the open. The Elf was no threat, she wrongly thought. She did not even notice Neena, who had her teeth bared menacingly. So Gothpunkemo licked her black-lipstick-ed lips in anticipation…and _struck_.

Unfortunately for her, so did Neena.

OoOoOoOoOo

Pippin leaned out of the window, and let his breakfast fly. His cousin, Merry, had not vomited, and probably would not, but he was still huddled against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest and shivering. Frodo sat next to him, his face white under his hood. Used to the way the Orcs of Mordor had mutilated the corpses of his kinsmen, Faramir was better off, but still looked shaken. Koss was a little surprised at the bloodthirstiness of the SuperSue-Spawn, but then again, the Dark Lord Sauron _was_ her father.

Having cleaned the blood off herself (do not ask _how_), Neena was running up and down the corridor, using the mysterious and seemingly bottomless store of energy all toddlers seem to possess. She was not at all affected – she had been the one to do _that_ to the Sue after all. I am not going to tell you, lest you start wondering what _that_ was. Why not? Well, because this site does not allow me to post anything that would need me to raise the rating higher than allowed. Nah, I'm just kidding. I'm just too lazy to change the rating. So sue me.

Digression.

The unlikely group continued their way only once the Hobbits had calmed down enough to be able to walk. There were no more interruptions in the form of Sues; maybe because someone had seen the mangled corpse of Gothpunkemo Grrl and spread the word. Damn, I'd promised I wouldn't mention it. I am pretty sure that you are now dying with anticipation as to what happened to the Emo!Sue. You really want to know? Oh, alright, since you're so convincing; I'll tell you.

It should be impossible for a person to tear a person's flesh with his bare hands. Much less so if the person in question appears to be a child of four or five. But this is what Neena did, after tethering Gothpunkemo to the floor with some form of binds (she had used Ravara's wand, of course). Neena ripped the flesh from Gothpunkemo's left wrist right up to her shoulder, exposing her humerus, radius and ulna, as well as the various tendons and ligaments and blood vessels. The MarySue had screamed and sobbed and tried to free herself. Neena had then stuffed the flesh down the Emo!Sue's throat, and so the screeches turned into choking noises. After that, Neena repeated the action on the Sue's right arm.

Next, Neena had scooped out one of Gothpunkemo's eyes (they were dark brown) with her fingers and inserted it into her mouth, while Gothpunkemo watched on in horrified fascination with her good eye. You know, right up until vitreous and aqueous humour dripped into it – because Neena still chewed with her mouth open. It did not help the Hobbits' nausea any. I would like to say that Neena ate the eye. But she did not. Once she discovered that the eye tasted like dark chocolate, she spat it back out. We all know how little kids dislike bitter things. It was the sight of the half-masticated remains of the eye back in its socket that made Pippin try to make a break for it. Faramir caught him, and brought him back, kicking and screaming (Pippin, I mean).

Sitting on the Sue's chest had made her asphyxiate and stop moving. Koss could have sworn that Neena looked a little disappointed that her plaything had died. But Neena soon cheered up when she learned that just because someone had become a corpse did not mean she could not play with it. Plunging both hands into Gothpunkemo Grrl's belly, Neena managed to remove most of the Sue's internal organs; heart, lungs, stomach, both small and large intestines, liver, spleen (which, if you didn't know, destroys old red blood cells), kidneys…eh, you get it. These she deposited into a pile next to the Sue carcass. The Sue's ribs were broken off into manageable pieces, and the phalanges from the toes and fingers removed with sickening noises. The patellae and fibulae from both legs were also removed.

There was blood everywhere, including all over Neena – not that the SuperSue-Spawn seemed to mind. Indeed, she seemed almost happy as she arranged the entrails and organs and bones into words on the white marble floor – which was now stained red, of course. The end product was rather large, seeing as the intestines by themselves were about 8 metres in length.

"Finiswed!" Neena had exclaimed happily, throwing up her bloodstained hands in the air. Not literally of course. Because, as many powers Neena may have as a result of being a SuperSue-Spawn, detachable hands is not one of them.

Koss approached warily (Faramir was too busy restraining the Hobbits).

_**Coup de grâce.**_

To those of you not near a thesaurus/dictionary and too lazy to copy and paste it into a search browser, I shall gladly give you the meaning of the phrase above. It means a death blow intended to end the suffering of a wounded creature, as in mercy killing. In this context, I am using it figuratively to describe the last of a series of events which brings about the end of some entity - and you can puzzle about the identity of this 'entity', if you wish.

And just who - or what - is this 'last' which brings about the end of the most annoying Sue in Arda history?

Well, I'm sure you'll all like to know that, wouldn't you?

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss did not actually want to free the Elf princeling named Figwit (they had found him singing 'Namárië, Namárië, Namárië' by the IthilienStreet Guys) (**2**). She perceived him to be far too pretentious, stupid, and all-around annoying. But she needed the manpower – or, in this case, Elf/Man/Hobbit-power. She sighed, and handed the brother-of-Legolas his piece of paper.

_Violetta Jaime Desidra Rose gazed out of a window at Elrond's house and sighed longingly. Every year for the past five hundred years, everything in her world revolved around this day, the day when the Greenleaf family arrived in Rivendale for a two week long visit. She was supposed to be helping the other servants with the preparations, but had shirked her duties to watch for the family. Although she was very excited to see King Thranduil and Prince Legolas again, there was one person she was longing to see more than anyone else... Legolas' younger brother, Figwit._

_After many long hours of waiting, Violetta finally spotted horses riding onto the house's grounds. First came the royal guard, followed by King Thranduil and his oldest son, Legolas. Then she spotted him-Figwit was riding in the back, away from his father and brother, with a regal air about him. Violetta grinned excitedly and rushed out to meet him._

_When she stepped outside, the other servants were already tending to the family, and several Elleths were gathered around Legolas' horse. _Silly girls_, thought Violetta, _their eyes are set on the wrong prize_. She walked up to Figwit, who was the only one who had not received any assistance_.

Figwit was very confused – and please note, dear readers, that I am not saying that he is _often _confused – all I say is that he is not unfamiliar to the feeling.

Anyway, Figwit was very confused. Why? Well, because he was pretty sure that all the Elleths in Rivendale (or was it Rivendell?) swooned after _him_, not his nancy brother Legolas. Legolas was the one who was left alone, while the Elleths swarmed around _him…_After all, Arwen Undomiel had liked him better – no, wait, she liked that scruffy ranger. Bad example.

He continued reading. The story was, after all, about him.

_"What were you doing out there?"_

_Violetta looked up to see her mother standing in front of the entrance to the kitchens. She stood with her arms crossed and her foot tapping._

_"Elrond sent me... to, uh..."_

_"Elrond said nothing to you! You were out there flirting with the prince again, when you were supposed to be helping with the cleaning. You disgrace me with your disobedience!"_

_"But mother..."_

_"What makes you think you would have a chance with him anyway? He is royalty, and you are nothing but a scullery maid. Look at you! You're hair is the colour of mud, and your eyes the colour of mould. Not to mention that you're always filthy."_

_Violetta lowered her head. Everything her mother said was true, and she knew it. Every time she looked in the mirror she was ashamed of her homeliness. Figwit would never love her, not in a million years. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she looked back up._

_"I won't shame you any longer, mother."_

_"Good. Now back to work, we still have a lot to do."_

_As Violetta departed, her mother sighed. She knew her daughter wasn't ugly; in fact, she was probably the most beautiful Elleth in Rivendale. But her beauty reminded her too much of her human father, who had died not long after her birth. So as an attempt to erase this memory and to make her feel better about her homeliness, she belittled her daughter._

Figwit frowned again. What? This story was not about _him_ – it was about some silly Elleth! (He wasn't too bothered about names, seeing as he knew _so_ _many _Elleths; it was hard to keep them straight. Their names, not the Elleths. Minds out of the gutter, people.) And stories were not worth reading if they were not about him, no siree. However, the Elleth who was holding up the piece of paper looked inclined to use the heavy-weapon-thingy if he did not continue, so (sighing a long-suffering sigh) Figwit kept going.

_While watching Figwit, Violetta forgot to watch where she was going. With a crash, she and the glasses went tumbling into the floor. The entire hall laughed when the wine poured all over her head. Her mother heard the crash and came running in to investigate. But when she saw who caused the crash, her attitude changed completely._

_"You clumsy girl! Get out before you do anything else to embarrass me! Out! Out!"_

_With tears in her eyes, Violetta ran out of the room and into the gardens. To her relief, no one was out there. So she chose a bench underneath an oak tree, and lay down to cry._

_"Are you alright?"_

_Violetta looked up for a moment to see Figwit standing nervously in front of the bench. She shook her head no._

_"You…you really should go back inside. I'm fine, really…"_

_"No, you're not. Tell me what's wrong."_

_Violetta sat up, allowing Figwit to sit beside her. "Well…everything. I'm clumsy, hideous, half human, and my mother hates me. She was right. No Elf - no Man would ever want me."_

_"I think you're mother's wrong," said Figwit._

_"What?"_

_"You're mother is wrong. You are the most beautiful Elleth I've ever seen, and I would love to get to know you."_

_"Really?" sniffed Violetta._

_"Really."_

_Their lips locked, and they both knew instantly that they were meant for each other. Because, after all, a kiss does tell everything about a person._

Figwit _**woke**_. Because there was _no way_ that he would willingly kiss any homely-half-Elleth who managed to spill wine all over herself.

Someone cleared their throat. Figwit looked up and saw the weirdest assortment of peoples. First, the Elleth who he had tried to save from two – I mean, _thousands_ – of Orcs. Next was a Man, who was sort of scruffy looking, and was probably Gondorian - judging by his clothes. (Hey, so he studied the fashion of the peoples of Middle-Earth – he needed something to occupy his time when _Legolas_ joined that stuffy Fellowship to destroy the Ring of Power, or whatever.) Behind him were three Hobbits, one of which was wearing a terrible black cloak – omg, artistic rips were _so_ last Age – but whose eyes were a redeeming quality. And then there was – sweet Iluvatar...!

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss smiled. She did not like Figwit. And, although she needed the Elf/Man/Hobbit-power, no one said she had to treat him well. (Figwit was, after all, something of a GaryStu himself.) And, although she had watched Neena kill a MarySue in a most gruesome fashion, Koss was not adverse to the idea of more torture. (Koss was, after all, Koss.) And, although she had told Neena to wait until after they _**woke**_ Sauron, Koss let her have Figwit as a playmate. (Neena was, after all, the best person – er, toddler-thing – to keep Figwit in line.)

"Agh, what are you – hey! Nononono, don't pull my – OUCH!"

Faramir started laughing, and even the Hobbits got in a few snickers. Neena joined in, emboldened by their 'approval' of her antics, her giggles sounding like the tremors of an earthquake (4.5 on the Richter scale, and IV on the Modified Mercalli Intensity Scale). Thankfully, there were no actual quakes – unlike all the times in Mordor when Sauron lost his temper and Mount Doom started a-rumbling. The Daughter of Sauron climbed off Figwit (much to his relief, I'm sure) and once again started running up and down the corridor. This time, however, instead of whacking Gothpunkemo's severed vertebral column against all available surfaces, Neena brandished a fistful of Figwit's brown Woosh-Woosh™ hair. Said Bane of Legolas was sobbing openly, while trying to cover up the bald spot by changing his parting.

It was not working.

Koss rolled her eyes, and then grabbed Figwit by the lapels of his tunic. His eyes immediately snapped to hers, and Koss knew that she would have no more problems from him.

"You will follow my orders, younger prince of Mirkwood."

Figwit opened his mouth, probably miffed at being addressed as such, but he wisely kept quiet. Neena had decided to run in circles around the two Elves.

"My first order is that you carry Neena." Koss smirked at the look of utter horror on his face. "My second order is to help me get rid of the SuperSue. If you fail to aid me in this task, if you fail to cooperate with anyone of this group, I will personally make sure that you receive a fate that will make shaving all your hair off seem as easy as a wafer of Lembas (**3**)," she added, giving a pointed look at the still circling Neena. Point made, Koss let him go and let him fall – face first – onto the marble floor. Of course, Neena used this opportunity to jump on his back (and possibly knock a few of his vertebrae out of alignment). Koss was benevolent enough to wait until Figwit managed not to collapse from the weight of the SuperSue-Spawn he was carrying piggyback-style, before setting out to find more heroes.

Only four left.

Frodo, Nine-and-three-quarter-eth Nazgûl, was right in his suggestion that they would find the would-be-King-of-Rohan in the stables. Eomer was tending to pink and purple unicorns and ponies. Koss grimaced in distaste. She _could not_ wait until Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie was dead and done with. Although the Venus flytraps were proving themselves useful, if Eomer covered in carnivorous plants was any indication. Oh well. To work. Frodo helped her by kicking Eomer in the shin, causing the Rohirric Rohirrim to squeal in pain and drop to the floor, clutching at the aforementioned body part. Frodo also held a piece of paper in front of the Man's face, seeing as his hands were otherwise occupied.

"_Daddy! Look at me!"_

_His first child's screeches brought Eomer out of his daydream with a start. Darn. And the image of Lothíriel giving him a lap dance was…_stimulating_, to say the least. I'm sure you all didn't want to read that. Anyway. He looked across the hall from his fireside chair, pipe dangling limply from mouth, to see his son prancing over, pirouetting in a sickeningly sweet way. What in Eru's name had become of his firstborn, anyway?_

"_Yes, son?" he asked, wiping drool from his beard, "What is it?"_

_Elfwine's beam grew, in an almost threatening fashion, exposing beautiful, perfect, pearly-white teeth._

"_Daddy, as you know, I am nearly sixteen years of age, and therefore old enough to decide what I want to do with my life." He paused, for dramatic effect, while Eomer nodded. This was true. Eomer was hoping that his son would follow in his footsteps and become a Marshal of the Riddermark. (And he would be able to inherit his Horse-Hair Helmet__!)_

Heyy, his helmet! Where was that thing, anyway? It sure wasn't on his head (where helmets and such are normally located); because Eomer was sure that metalloid helmets did not make one feel like one's head was being chewed on and digested by heterotrophic plants. Or did they? Huh. He was sure that there was a time that he did not confuse helmets with plants. A time when he killed things with his sword (okay, that sentence is probably an extremely EVIL double entendre). A time when he rode horses (again, double entendre). A time when – alright, no, he had lost his train of thought. Eomer started reading again, just so he wouldn't experience the awful pain of getting kicked in the shin by a Hobbit foot again.

"_Daddy, I want to be a GaryStu!"_

_His words rang out throughout Middle Earth, with each echo getting higher pitched, causing minor earthquakes to break out and nearby houses to topple over, dramatically increasing the number of homeless people. It also caused many a Man to collapse writhing on the floor, clutching at their ears, while a bunch of Orcs many leagues away were physically sick. Let us not mention what happened to the rest of the various fauna of Arda._

_As Elfwine's eyes glittered, his long eyelashes batting against the perfect skin of his cheeks, the sound of thunder crashed about the hall - each of his pearly teeth were thrown into sharp relief as the sun was blocked out by dark clouds, with only the flickering fire as light._

_Eomer whimpered._

"_From now on I shall be known as Elfwine Starness Threstralhippogriff Glitterwings Gandalfia McDonaldstar!" _

_As he pushed each of these nuggets of names through his full lips, rainbows and butterflies and other happy things sprung from his fingertips, enveloping him in a fey urple light. They swirled around him, and then disappeared into his skin, thus ending the ceremony._

_Reality was shoved out of the way (much like the way Eomer was shoved out of his seat by OOC-ness), to make way for the world of GaryStu-dom._

Now, see, Eomer was sure that there was something wrong with this story. First of all, he didn't know anyone by the name of Lothíriel giving him lap dances - come to think of it, Eomer was sure that he had _given _lap dances (with frightening frequency in these past few months), but had never received them. In fact, he was also pretty sure that his Horse-Hair Helmet™ had been utilized in said lap dances.

**I know ya'll would like to bleach your brains right about now, so I'll pause for a moment or two - just because there's a bottle of Clorox in the corner just waiting for me.**

Secondly, Eomer was sure that he didn't have a son (pretty sure, anyway.) And even if he _did_, he wouldn't have named the kid _Elfwine_. No, he wouldn't. If Eomer ever sired a son, he would have a non-girly name - something like Horsehairius! Yes, that would be - OW!

Once again, Eomer's eyes watered as his shin was abused. How on Arda could a Hobbit foot bereft of pointy boots be the cause for so much pain?

_Elfwine Starness Threstralhippogriff Glitterwings Gandalfia McDonaldstar gave a 'cute' giggle. He bounced off, to enthral all who he skipped past, create a MEGA-SUPAAR-AWESUM fanclub and perhaps to kidnap a sexy elf or two. Tee-hee. When he finally regained control over his twitching limbs, Eomer shakily got back into his chair, sneezing as he inhaled GaryStu residue from Elfwine Starness Threstralhippogriff Glitterwings Gandalfia McDonaldstar's earlier ceremony. _

_As he regretfully pondered his son's revelation he wondered how he had not seen it coming. What with his manic fondness for anything pink, his obsessive cleaning/beautifying rituals and his passion for squealing – Eomer now realised how dense he must be to not have noticed. Of course, it had mostly been gradual; it started off just his 'awwing' at ponies and batting his eyelids at any visiting (fe)male elves. Now it was very serious._

_Suddenly, Eomer realised that his son had left him._ _Yes, he had left, and with him, any chance of a father-son incestuous slash relationship._

_With a thud, Eomer fell from his chair onto his knees, shouting with every force he could, his voice cracking as tears ran in streaks down his face, "WHY HAST THOU FORSAKEN MEEEEE?!" _

Eomer _**woke**_. Then he promptly vomited at the feet of a pink pony (which later on decided that vomit was safe to eat and subsequently died because said vomit contained no sugar or rainbows or apples.)

Koss sighed, and passed Frodo a piece of cord for Eomer's ValarSue-repellent. She cursed the fact that three Hobbits, two Men, an Elf, a SuperSue-Spawn and herself were not yet enough for them to take on Chloe (may she die in pieces) and win.

And they _would _win – one way or the other. Oh, yes – Koss would make sure of it.

OoOoOoOoOo

The Sodding-Heir-of-Isildur was a surprisingly tough nut to crack - and, no, I am not talking about _those_ nuts, and neither am I talking about cracking him literally. Because Neena would surely be able to do that without much trouble, if her experience with Gothpunkemo Grrl was anything to go by. Her newly developed powers would surely allow her to break Strider in two (or more) pieces. No doubt this would upset her father, who had been so rudely interrupted before he could finish his first ever proper Sod Hunt – which, as you should remember, took place 3 months and 11 days ago. Wow, time sure does fly, doesn't it? What? Oh, digression.

Anyway, as I was saying, Thorongil was proving a tough nut to crack. Why? Well, so far he had been immune to the _**waking**_ charms of Kimberlee de la Fleur (the half-human half-Elf with the Gold-flecked Winter Sky eyes, Ripe Raven hair who gave off the scent of Herbal Tea Rose and could levitate – oh, and let us not forget her super sexy foreign accent – although there is no such thing in Middle-Earth), K'tanya LeLonde (the woman who had been raised by Wolves, had Smoky Cerulean orbs, Luxurious Brown Sugar tresses, smelled like Sun-kissed Sandalwood, could talk to animals and had an exotic birthmark in an _intimate_ place – shudder) and Destiny Flowering Tree (the 'faerie' who had the power of Astral Projection, and had cascading locks of Silky Titian, eyes of Passionate Jade and smelled like Lacy Night-Blossom). Oh, and Marie-Elisabeth-Rochelle St. Clair, Patria Vasquez, Chantal Adorine la Croix, Marguerite St Just and the unforgettable Desirée Estée Yseult Violette de Smytheford.

It was time for drastic measures.

And, yes, there were more drastic measures than Neena, I can assure you.

She was the Crossover!Sue.

_Krst'all felt someone shaking her. She was about to turn over and ignore Jang'buir when she remembered that he never shook her awake (he was more the type to stand in the doorway and bark orders). Then she remembered that he was dead._

_And then she remembered the ship chase._

_Abruptly she opened her eyes and scrabbled for her lightsaber. It wasn't there. So she grabbed her trusty sword, which was conveniently at her side. Only then did she look around at her surroundings. Had she crashed?_

_Only inches away, a man squatted, looking surprised. His hand was on the hilt of his own sword, although he did not draw it from his sheath._

_"Who are you?" Krst'all barked, ignoring the fact that this man was very attractive. "What planet is this? Where is my ship?"_

_"I know nothing of your ship, although we are no where near a lake or the sea. We are in Middle-Earth." His voice was deep and melodious and like music to Krst'all's ears. She ignored this. "And my name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I am the King of Gondor."_

_Too late she noticed that he wore a circlet on his head, pushed back so that it gave him a rakish appearance. Krst'all now could not deny that the man was deliciously fine-looking. But where was Gondor? Was it in the Outer Rim, or something like that? Krst'all shrugged inwardly and sat up properly. She set her sword down, and pushed her fiery red locks from her face. Her fringe (which was pure white) was left hanging in front of her eye-patch._

_"Who are you, my lady?"_

_Krst'all started. She had forgotten to introduce herself. (As her abusive mother would say, she had complete disregard for her manners. But she had left her past behind, just like she had left her mother behind, all those years ago.)_

_"My name is Krst'all Purrpleros Kaoeihrsrkkllkaere Fett. I'm from Coruscant, or at least I was born there." And then she said, with tears gathering in the corner of her good eye, "You see, my father left my mother when I was just two years old. This destroyed my poor mother, and she turned to drink. Unfortunately, she was a violent drunk, and often abused me – both physically and mentally. She blamed me for my father's leaving, you see."_

_The Man – no, no, Aragorn – made a sympathetic sound and patted her hand. "I understand. I myself was not abused, but my ex-lover Legolas was mistreated by his evil father, Thranduil."_

"_Ex-lover?" Krst'all asked, trying to keep jealousy and disappointment out of her voice._

_There was a sad smile on his face, making him seem all the more handsome. (A/N: And we all know how handsome he is, tee hee!) "Yes. He died not too long ago."_

_Now it was her turn to pat his hand, although she did not let go. "I'm so sorry."_

"_Don't be." Now his voice had turned bitter, and his gray eyes seemed to focus on something far away. "He and his true love Arwen Undomiel jumped off the waterfall near Amon Hen because King Elrond wouldn't let them get married." (A/N: I know Aragorn is supposed to fall in love with Arwen, but I think Aragorn/Legolas slash is hawt. And anyway, Aragorn is going to fall in love with someone else in this story, so I had to get rid of Legolas and Arwen. Elrond is a meanie anyway.)_

Now, just wait one second. Aragorn was sure that he never saw Legolas as anything other than a good friend, travelling companion and (in younger years) fellow mischief maker. What was 'slash'? Who was King Elrond? (Aragorn did vaguely remember a _Lord_ Elrond, but not a King Elrond.) What did 'meanie' mean?

And who was this 'A/N' person anyway?

So many questions – and questions that needed answering. Maybe they were to be found in the rest of the parchment.

_There was an awkward silence. There was, after all, not much to say after being told that. After a while, Krst'all decided that she would continue with her story. "And at school everyone used to tease and bully me – because I had Force powers and because of my white hair, they called me a freak. And they thought I was lying about my mother abusing me – because she always acted nice to me in public."_

"_That must have been so hard for you."_

_She nodded, finding that Aragorn brushing his fingers on the back of her hand was very distracting. She longed to have those fingers brush…other parts of her. _

"_I ran away from home when I was fifteen."_

"_So young!" Aragorn exclaimed, his silver eyes wide and surprised. _

_She blushed, and ducked her head. "I know. But I couldn't take it anymore. My mother –" Krst'all spat the word out like something that was spat out – "had abused me again, and my schoolmates had teased me again, and I just – ran."_

"_Where did you go?"_

"_Well, I went to the ship port and snuck onto a ship. I was found by a bounty hunter named Jango Fett, who – after telling him of my past – decided to adopt me. So he trained me to be a bounty hunter, and I became the first ever bounty hunter with Force powers by the age of seventeen."_

_Aragorn looked suitably impressed and exclaimed, "So you are a warrior! There are no female warriors here – I'm sure you are very brave and strong."_

_Krst'all blushed again, but gamely continued. "Anyway, Jango was murdered when I was seventeen – all because of some stupid war. I was so angry when I saw him dead – I just blacked out. I didn't know what I did until after I did it."_

"_What did you do?" the Man asked, breathless with anticipation. (A/N: Whoa, Aragorn breathless, isn't that hawt?)_

"_I single-handedly wiped out the Sith, brought peace to the galaxy, ended slavery and destroyed the Death Stick trade," she replied modestly._

_The King's awe doubled. She had destroyed the Sith by herself – how powerful she was! (A/N: Sauron's like a Sith, rite? I mean, he's evil and all…anyway, its just fanfiction!)_

Nope, he was more confused than ever. There were so many terms that were foreign to Aragorn – Force powers; hawt; Sith; galaxy; Death Stick; Sith…you get what I mean. Plus he was confused as to what exactly the writer was alluding to when he (or she) wrote '_She longed to have those fingers brush…other parts of her'_.

Plus there was this…niggling feeling at the back of his mind. Like something tiny, shouting "Are!" and "When!" Perhaps the voice was enquiring "Are you going mad?" and "When do we panic?"

And yet still there was this heavy sensation – as if there was a presence in his head. This both frightened and angered him. Added to the confusion, these new emotions started to give Elessar a headache. A very, very, very bad headache. Not quite a migraine, because migraines sometimes hinder sight, but almost.

"_Wow," he said, looking her up and down and wondering how such a beautiful woman could be such a great warrior. I mean, she wore her waist length fiery red hair tightly braided, except the lock of pure white hair that was left free. How absolutely mysterious and intriguing that she have white hair, seeing as she could not be older than twenty – she was so beautiful and young looking._

_Speaking of looking, Krst'all had the most beautiful emerald eyes. Or, Aragorn amended, the most beautiful emerald _eye_. The left eye was covered by an eye-patch. He wondered what had happened to her._

_Her nose was straight and cute, while her lips were full and pouty ('and utterly kissable,' Aragorn thought to himself). Her ears were slightly pointy at the tips which made him frown a little. She would be a young Elf indeed, if her story were true. What was he saying? Of course she was telling the truth – there was no way someone as exquisite as her could ever _lie_._

_As she stood to join him he could also see that Krst'all was tall and willowy. Her tight fitting, yet modest, tunic showed off her muscles, although she still looked lean. (A/N: Not buff, omg.)_

_Suddenly their eyes met, and neither of them could take it anymore. It did not matter that they had just met. They were bonded by their pasts. They were both warriors. They were both beautiful. They were both single. _

What did 'single' mean in that context? Aragorn was completely sure that he did not have any twin, so he could not be a 'double'. How odd.

And…Elf…why did that trigger memories? Especially that of a beautiful Elleth, who was called the Evenstar of her people, and who had a shiny necklace (which was subsequently gifted to Aragorn) and who was the daughter of his foster father, and who was willing to give up her immortality for him, and who –

_They grabbed each other and started kissing passionately. Instantly, as their lips locked, they knew that they were meant for each other. Aragorn gently lowered Krst'all onto the grass and covered her body with his, and all without breaking their kiss.  
_

_(A/N: This is my first time writing a sex scene, so be nice, okay?!)_

_Krst'all's mouth fused with Aragorn's, her hands tangled in that soft black hair. The Man's hands found their way down Krst'all's chest, and under her shirt. The bounty hunter moaned in pleasure as Aragorn's hands did wicked things underneath the flimsy material._

_Running his tongue along Krst'all's lower lip, he wordlessly asked for permission for entrance and was granted with a moan and the parting of Krst'all's lips. Their tongues battled for dominance, dancing with scorching passion, fencing against one another._

_Aragorn abruptly pulled away, leaving Krst'all cold and confused. He looked at her with intense mercurial eyes. "Do you want this, Krst'all?" he stated, his voice deeper and huskier than normal._

_Her only answer was to twine her arms around his neck and kiss him._

_They removed each others' clothers and soon there were no clothes separating them. At a whispered plea from Krst'all, Aragorn groaned, and then sheathed himself deep within her._

_Their peaks hit them at the exact same time, and after the bliss they lay there, panting. After regaining their breaths again, Krst'all stared into Aragorn's silver eyes for a long time, while he stared into her emerald ones. The both of them felt the same tranquillity, the same sense of belonging, the same feeling of rightness. _

_And they both said, at the same time, "I lov –_

Aragorn _**woke**_. His first thought was 'ARWEN!' His second was 'OMG LEGOLAS I KEEL JOO!'

Quite understandable. But, seeing as Legolas was nowhere to be found (yet) it was also quite irrelevant. However, this is alright because Strider's next thought was 'Chloe must die. In pieces.'

Koss smirked, seeing as Aragorn had voiced that last thought aloud. Good. She wouldn't have to try hard to convince him to help her, even. All the Sanity Keeper had to do was to bark at him to get up, which he did, and then give him the same explanation she had given the other heroes. The Sodding-Heir-of-Isildur looked a little uneasy as he tied the parchment around his neck, but that may have been because he was remembering what was on the parchment.

As they continued on, Koss heard whisperings behind her. Without turning back, she said casually, "If you think of staging mutiny now, know that I will not hesitate to kill any one of you. That, or I'll just let Neena deal with you."

Someone whimpered. Koss thought it was Figwit.

OoOoOoOoOo

Sauron and Legolas were both in the Throne Room, somehow squished together so that they could both sit on the throne. They had their arms around the other's shoulders (quite difficult for Legolas) and were drinking Generic Strong Alcohol. Apparently they were both lamenting the fact that their sweetie-darling-baby-bear was nowhere to be seen – and to subsequently fight over.

They were also singing some 'spirit-lifting' song that seemed to list all of the SuperSue's qualities. It was, needless to say, quite a long and vomit inducing song – even if their drunken voices were not so out of tune that they would mangle even 'Twinkle, Twinkle Telumendil' (**4**). In fact, even sober!Sauron's voice would mangle said song, but that has nothing to do with the subject at hand, so I will dub it digression and continue on.

Koss had given pieces of cloth to each of the heroes to be stuffed in their ears, and instructed them to further plug their ears with their fingers – just to be on the safe side. They did not need to hear the final Sue Story she was about to read to Sauron and Legolas. Koss was immune to it, having read it in Isengard and temporarily losing her sense of sight. It was doubtful that Neena would be affected at all, so Koss let her be.

The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity took a deep breath, and then said, in a loud voice that echoed throughout the Throne Room:

**The Story in question is not a Sue Story per se, but it is scarring enough to be cut out of this fanfic. Suffice it to say that it involves Sauron, Legolas and the Ring. And bondage. And Mpreg. (That's short for Male-pregnancy.) And Rpreg. (That's short for Ring-pregnancy.) And a three-way wedding. (Don't ask me to clarify.)**

**I trust you are all bleeding from your eyes by now. By all means, go fetch a tissue for yourself, before you drip on the carpet. I'll wait.**

…

**All better? Wonderful!**

Sauron and Legolas _**woke**_.

The latter found himself on the floor, because the former had shoved him off the throne. Neither was drunk, because it takes more than a few goblets of Generic Strong Alcohol to inebriate a Maia and an Elf, no matter what Suethors think. Both of them only just seemed to realise that they were not alone – there were heroes trying to remove pieces of cloth from their ears, while a little child and Koss stood before them.

Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly's_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera, said, "What is the meaning of this, Koss?"

Koss smiled. It was nice to have her employer back to normal. "We are staging a coup, my lord."

"Oh? I did not know that you had changed sides."

Koss frowned. "I have not, my lord."

Legolas Thranduillion, Prince of Mirkwood, Elf-boy, Winner-of-drinking-contests-with-dwarves, Koss' Pet, Emissary of the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood, Killer-of-Mûmakil, Torturer of Sues (ToS), Delight of the Fangirls, Traitor Extraordinaire, Head of the heart-HAREM-heart, and so on and so forth, said, "Then why have you sided with _them_?"

It was a sad, sad day indeed when Sauron willingly agreed with Legolas, which was what he proceeded to do. "Indeed. I was under the impression that you would rather die than side with the Sodding-Heir-of-Isildur and his ilk." (Aragorn bristled.) "I see I was wrong."

"Not at all, my lord. We are merely trying to overthrow Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, the SuperSue who has taken over Minas Tirith for over two months."

Both the Maia and the Mirkwood Elf twitch-spasm-ed for a split second after hearing the Valar!Sue's name, but then reverted back to normal.

"Who?"

At last Koss understood. The both of them had suffered the worst at the hands of Chloe (may she die in pieces). It was only normal that they shut out all memories of her. It was probably for the best for their psychological wellbeing, but without them remembering there would be no chance of Sauron believing her, much less helping.

She knew what she had to do. Koss took the wand from Neena, and took a deep breath. She waved it (or jerked it violently, really) and there was a great puff of smoke. After a moment, when it cleared, all of them could see the creature that Koss had called into being.

"Pika, pika!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

OoOoOoOoOo

After banishing the creature (and after calming down an irate Dark Lord as well as a distressed Elf princeling), Koss was _finally_ able to lay down her plans for destroying Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie. After calmly brushing the Venus flytrap off her shoulder and giving it to Neena (who put it in her mouth), Koss put her hands on her hips and waited for her employer's reaction.

"Well," he said finally, "this is your area of expertise. And although you have thus far been unsuccessful, with my help this should work."

"I agree with Lord Sauron," Legolas said quickly. Sauron glared at the Elf balefully, before turning to Koss with a look that said, 'You should have just let me kill him.'

Koss, used to her boss' moods, just rolled her eyes. "Alright then. If no one has any objections, we'll –"

"I have an objection." The opposition was raised by, unsurprisingly, Aragorn. He was glaring, and had the re-forged sword of Elendil not been tossed into the fires of Mount Doom (Sauron was taking no chances), he would have had it drawn. In fact, it would have been funny to see the Sod's reaction to being told that his shiny new sword was nothing but melted metal amidst molten lava. Be that as it may, this was not the time for such trivialities. Now was the time to intimidate him, and any of his backers, into submission.

"OH? WELL, WHO CARES WHAT YOU THINK, YOU –"

Koss hurriedly cut the Dark Lord off, before someone (namely, Ravara) found out where they were. "And what is this objection, Ranger?"

"I refuse to help Sauron, and anyone under him."

"Even at the risk of your sanity?" Koss raised an eyebrow, and only someone incredibly stupid (or Nazgûl no. 7 – same thing) wouldn't know who she was referring to.

Aragorn winced slightly, but nodded anyway.

"I am afraid, O' chieftain of the Dúnedain, that you have no choice in the matter." At this, Koss moved to stand beside Sauron, who was still seated on the throne. Legolas joined her, standing slightly behind her right shoulder. Nazgûl 9.75 stood on the other side of the throne, and the other Hobbits, by default, tagged along. Faramir followed, probably because he was the self-appointed Hobbit protector (ironically, like his brother had been). Neena jumped onto her father's lap, and it was impossible to tell whether Sauron was surprised by the action or not – seeing as he was currently wearing full battle armour.

Only Eomer and Figwit stood by Aragorn, and Koss rather suspected that the Elf was on that side because his brother was on the other. Ah, sibling rivalry. So childish and petty, yet still in existence between two brothers who were each thousands of years old.

"You are grossly outnumbered, if you had not noticed," Koss said, smirking. "As I said earlier, you have no choice."

And, much to Sauron's disappointment (he had secretly been hoping that the Sod would still be recalcitrant so that Sauron could kill him), Aragorn knew when to back down.

"Excellent. Now, as I was saying…"

OoOoOoOoOo

After many, many hours (it was currently 9.23 at night, and the fact that the sun is shining weakly outside shows how much power the SuperSue has lost), Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie emerged from the broom cupboard cautiously. She did not notice the Venus Flytrap, because it had attached itself at the end of her hair, which was already so heavy (because of its length) that it would be impossible to tell if a Troll was hanging from it, much less a carnivorous plant.

Oh, yes, her hair has grown back. And her skin is back to its normal, boil-free state. The dungarees have also disappeared. However, this does not mean that Chloe (may she die in pieces) had regained all her powers. The dress she currently wore was unbelievably simple – it was a nondescript blue, cut from everyday cloth, and was absent of any embellishments or extra layers. Needless to say, Ravara had been quite upset when she found out that it did not even have a plunging neckline, but she had not been able to change her clothes with a snap of her fingers. This distressed her further, so much so that she did not realise that (despite re-growing her hair and her boils vanishing) she was not as…perfect as she had been before. In fact, she was looking rather mousy, and a lot less curvaceous. Her hair was more brown than black (and had split ends due to her not taking care of it) while her pink eyes made her look distinctly bug-like.

However, all thoughts of changing into another outfit (one far gaudier, of course) left Chloe's mind once she saw the bright pink stilettos with 9-inch heels. She squeed with delight, grabbing the shoes with her (no longer pianist-like) hands, and started rubbing them against her cheek, muttering words under her breath in a manner that would put even Gollum/Sméagol to shame.

Of course, two steps later, these shoes were tossed aside in favour of a purse shaped like a butterfly and decorated with extra sparkly sequins (which, by the way, don't exist in Arda). And then this monstrous accessory was replaced with an orange-and-red-and-pink miniskirt. This sequence was repeated many times, with items including, but not limited to; a gilded handheld mirror inlaid with pearls (which shattered and bestowed seven years of bad luck onto Ravara); a musical jewellery box which was out of tune; and a 'cute' top that matched the miniskirt only in the amount of material used to make it.

Unbeknownst to Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie (and there are a lot of things she doesn't know), all these objects were leading to one destination. Can any of you guess where this destination is? Yes, that's right. How very clever.

Chloe (may she die in pieces) had to push open the great doors leading into the Throne Room to get at the kitschy necklace which had been wedged underneath. The (fake) diamonds caught the candlelight and refracted it into little rainbows that danced across Ravara's face, making her look even more eerie. This effect was magnified once the SuperSue caught sight of the heroes.

"Ronnie-poo! Leggy-chan! Gornie-kins! Figwit-kun! Mir-Mir! Eo'! Fro-Fro! MerryandPippin!"

**And really, you can puzzle over the origin of that last nickname, if you haven't already figured it out. **(**5**)

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie ran forward, as if to embrace all the heart-HAREM-heart at once (which, despite her Sue powers, is not possible without gorilla-like arms). She would have succeeded, too, had she not smacked straight into an invisible barrier. The half-Elf half-Maia sat up, rubbing her forehead and sniffing piteously. Her eyes were rimmed with crocodile tears, and instead of asking relevant questions such as "What was that?" and "Who did it?" Chloe (may she die in pieces) simply asked, "Isn't someone going to kiss my boo-boo better?"

In the complete silence that followed, someone snickered.

To Chloe's alarm, none of the heroes seemed inclined to approach her, much less comfort her. In fact, they were all looking at her in varying expressions of distaste. Legolas was sneering, while Aragorn scowled. Eomer and Faramir had their arms crossed and their faces were decorated with near-hysteria and disgust, respectively. The Hobbits' expressions were odd on faces such as theirs, but managed to make them look frightening (at least to Ravara). Sauron lounged languidly on his throne, cape missing, and drumming his fingers on the arm of the throne. Even the SuperSue shivered at the feel of his gaze on her, and it was not the good kind of shiver, either.

Koss stepped into Chloe's line of sight. She was smiling, and this maybe gave Chloe (may she die in pieces) some form of hope. Whatever it did, the Valar!Sue surged to her feet, and tried to launch herself into her handmaiden's arms. Because she is so stupid, she had forgotten all about the barrier, which was both invisible and solid. With another THUD, Ravara was once again knocked to her feet, her forehead starting to bruise. Koss' smile widened, and for the first time, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie felt a sense of unease.

"What is going on, Lana-kins?"

There seemed to be a collective wince from the heroes. Koss bared her teeth, already fed up with the name. "First of all, my name is _Koss_," she snarled. "Not 'Lana'; not 'Lana-kins'; and not 'my dear loyal handmaiden'. Koss." There was a pause as Koss visibly pulled herself together, and then smiled nastily. "Secondly, 'what is going on' is that we are going to rid ourselves of you, you annoying, narcissistic, **censoredy censored CENSORED**."

It was quite obvious that Koss had been waiting a long time to say those words.

After getting over the initial shock of what was happening (which, while significantly shorter than the amount of time taken to compute what Koss had actually _said_, was quite a long time), Ravara tried to call Koss' bluff. "Yeah, right. You can't kill me. I have Magick powers."

"Oh, yes, how could I forget? Neena, if you would."

Not even the name or the appearance of the toddler could jog Chloe's memory. After all, her _real_ children were all Generic Offspring (half of which were suffering from gender confusion, due to the fact that they were named very vaguely). There was no way she could have given birth to that tot with the sharp teeth and the fiery eyes and chubby face and aura of EVIL-ness. The child did, however, have Ravara's wand firmly grasped in one chubby hand.

"My wand! Give it to me!" Ravara demanded, and rose to her feet, as if to tackle a (relatively) harmless toddler. Quite predictably, she did try to, and, also quite predictably, she smacked into the invisible blockade. This time the laughter was more pronounced.

"Enough of this," Koss said. Sure, Sue torture was enjoyable, but this Sue was long overdue her death. The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity took the wand from Neena, and would forevermore remember the SuperSue's expression as she snapped the thing in two across her knee. Koss threw the pieces towards Chloe (may she die in pieces), and they landed neatly before her.

Now, although it was clear that the barricade was no longer there; even Ravara knew that she was no match for Koss. (Or any of the heroes, if it came to that. Or even Neena, if it came to _that_.) Instead, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie did the only thing that was natural (to her, anyway). She turned her large, tear rimmed to Legolas and Sauron. It should be impossible to do so, seeing as there was quite a bit of distance between the two of them, but the Sue managed anyway. Maybe it had something to do with the way her eyes were pointing in two different directions, but then again, maybe not.

"Ronnie-poo, Leggy-chan, help me!"

"YOU MUST BE JOKING."

"I agree with Lord Sauron. What on Arda could possibly motivate us to help _you_?"

Chloe (may she die in pieces) blinked. This was not the reaction that she was used to. She thought for awhile, opened her mouth, and then shut it. She blinked again, and said, "Because I'm pretty, and smart, and…and…and we're soul mates! You love me!"

"NOT BLOODY LIKELY."

Legolas' answer was along the same lines of Sauron's (following his new objective to get into the good graces of his new employer), and this made Ravara's eyes grow wide(r) and more panicked. It did not look good on her – but, then again, no expression _did_. Quickly she turned to Aragorn. "Gornie-kins, surely you love me! Don't you remember all the good times we had together?"

The Ranger grimaced. "I would rather not remember, seeing as I had better times with Arwen – you know, the Elleth I actually love."

"And I had better times with Eowyn, although I have not known her for very long," said Faramir, when the SuperSue turned her beseeching pink gaze to the would-be Steward of Gondor of the would-be King of the Reunited Kingdoms if Karma Didn't Suck. Speaking of which, where was Eowyn anyway?

Without prompting, Frodo Baggins (also known as Nazgûl nine-point-seven-five) stepped forward and said, "You obviously have many misconceptions about our race. Firstly, big feet do not equal big **censored**, although some cases – actually, scratch that. Secondly, we do not dance about on tabletops unless there are large amounts of alcohol nearby. Thirdly, we do not talk about our…" (and here he looked a little green) "…our…**censored censored censoredy censored**.

"Furthermore, as Hobbits, we are quite wary of Big Folk. We will NOT jump into the nearest bed with a female who is twice as big as we are – no matter how 'beautiful'. We do NOT date outside our race (or our average height). And finally, Merry and Pippin are nothing more than cousins and mischief makers. They do not engage in sexual acts with each other, particularly not with a third party involved."

Koss was rather impressed with the Hobbit's speech, although Chloe (may she die in pieces) was decidedly not. If truth be told, the SuperSue seemed to be shrinking into herself. She had her arms crossed over her torso, hands clutching at her shoulders, and her knees drawn up to her chest. Every time an erstwhile-'lover' of hers would profess their undying hatred for her (as opposed to undying love, I imagine), she would grip herself more and more tightly. I hypothesize that because she has been 'loved' all her life, or at least imagined herself to be loved, such blatant dislike would upset her.

However, as this was the aim of her plan, Koss could not bring herself to feel any pity. And, really, the mere idea of the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity feeling pity for _any_ MarySue is a laughable one.

She was jolted out of her thoughts with a keening scream from the powerless Valar!Sue. "What do you want from me?? What have I ever done to you!? All I want is to be loved!!" Her distress was clear in the way she still managed to mangle the use of punctuation marks.

"No. You do not want to be loved. You want to be in control of other people's minds so that you can satiate your never-ending lust. And you only do so because deep down you realise that _no one_ would be able to stand you if they were in their right mind. Which is what's happening right now."

Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie burst into tears. "NO! That's not true!" She started crawling weakly towards Legolas. "Please, Leggy, tell her it's not true! Tell her you love me!"

The Elf's scowl deepened. "I'll see you in Udûn first, you **censored**."

At Chloe's confused look, Koss clarified, having had experience with the lingo of Modern Earth. "He means 'Hell'."

Ravara wailed. "Doesn't anybody here love me?"

**What a stupid question.**

There was a resounding "NO!" as some of the heroes were more vehement than the others. Namely, the ones with more psychological scarring. Namely, Legolas and Sauron. Namely – no, I can't think of anything else to add. Hmm. On with the story, then.

"WHY?" Chloe demanded, directing this outburst at no one in particular as she screamed up at the high ceiling. It was obvious that she did not want (and did not need) an explanation, but Koss was all too happy to give her one.

"Because, as I said previously, you are an annoying, narcissistic, **censoredy censored CENSORED**. You have a complete sense of disregard for the feelings of the people you control, as well as the natural balance of worldly things. You have a more questionable parentage than all the bastards of this world (being the daughter of a Maia and an Elf, as well as the granddaughter of Melkor), and you _had_ to choose my employer as your husband. Are you really so stupid as to think you could get away with it?" Koss paused for a second. "No, actually, don't answer that. We all know the answer. You are stupid, self-centred, fashion fixated, sex-crazy and logic-deprived."

Once again, there was a pause as Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie whimpered and shrunk into herself even more.

"Oh, and you're ugly."

There was a great sound, and a…_shift_, as normality reasserted itself . (That statement is not supposed to sound like it has anything to do with the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe – which I don't own – but it does. Deal with it.) Several things happened. All traces of Sue-dom was gone, while Morgoth disappeared – presumably back into the Void. Gimli, Eowyn and Gandalf appeared in the dungeons of Minas Tirith, where they had been situated pre-Chloe. The heroes were no longer in danger of losing control of their minds.

However, the most interesting and satisfying incident was the exploding of the resident Valar!Sue. Koss, being the closest (and I mean this in the distance sense) to the Sue at the time, was splattered head to foot in blood. She did not care much. (Besides, it was surprisingly normal blood – red, for a start, and not glittery.) Neena squealed and started making angels in the blood covered floor; much like a normal child would make an angel in the snow.

Koss smiled as the heroes around her cheered. (Although Figwit was lamenting the fact that the Sue's severed hand had ended up in his hair.) And why would they not? After all, Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, Chloe, Valar Sue, Mrs. Sauron, She-whose-name-grows-pink-flowers, Keeper and Exploiter of the heart-HAREM-heart, One with the Universe, Wielder of Rikumiku Shitzu, Destroyer of Punctuation, Rider of Xena Cutesywutesy Puffy Warrior Dragon, Eater of Health Food, One with the Impossible Body Parts, granddaughter of Morgoth, Dumbledore and Professor X, Owner of the Fourth Silmaril, and so on and so forth, blah, blah, blah, had just _died_.

And what do you know, she did so in pieces.

OoOoOoOoOo

In another world, the Authoress gives a start.

_**What?**_

**I felt a great disturbance in the Story…as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in disbelief and were suddenly silent.**

_**Well…you **_**did**_** just kill Chloe.**_

**Hey, yeah. So I did.**

_**By the way, where do you want me to put this package? The one addressed to Agent Motiel?**_

**Um…put it near the door, where I can see it. I need to send it soon. Thanks.**

_**No problem.**_

OoOoOoOoOo

In the same world, doctors and medical experts from different continents scratch their heads. There had been a sudden spike in heart attacks all over the world – and some of the victims had no family history of heart attacks. All cases had happened almost simultaneously, but the victims had nothing in common – except for one fact.

All of them were found in front of a computer, the screen showing chapter nineteen of a LoTR fanfic.

OoOoOoOoOo

(**1**) Yes, I wrote that by myself. I thought it was rather amusing, really.

(**2**) Well, I couldn't stop at just creating a spoof of boy bands – I had to name the music too. Guess what song it really is. Guess.

(**3**) Or, as easy as a piece of cake.

(**4**) Telumendil is one of the constellations created by Varda. Twinkle, twinkle little star.

(**5**) It refers to Samneric, the twins in 'The Lord of the Flies' (which I do not own). It also hints at the activities Frodo mentions later on.

The Sue Stories featured in this story are written by Fili, Allergic to Paradox, Agent Motiel and Radish Earrings respectively. My thanks to Ainu Laire.

The Aragorn one was written by yours truly (at the risk of my own sanity), so expect to see it on my account soon, properly parodied.

Yes, that is the mangled quote of Ben Kenobi in Star Wars: A New Hope. I do not claim to own Star Wars or its affiliates. Agent Motiel is mentioned because she is the creator of Ravarastwinkletoecutiepie, and has expressed some, ahem, _concern_ on the subject of the SuperSue's death. As I couldn't put her into the actual killing, I decided to mention her in the chapter anyway.

As for the last section of the chapter, AllyP said in a review that my readers would die of heart attacks when I actually killed Chloe. And that is what myocardial infarction means – heart attack.

Wow. Can you believe that Chloe took up eleven chapters of this story? That's…wow. I didn't know how much this story owes to her…well, not to her personally, but to her presence at least. Oh, that reminds me, many thanks to all those who took part in the poll (all eleven of you). However, I'm going to take it down soon, so for those who haven't yet, please take a look. It'd help me greatly, and it'll determine where this story will go (or at least how far it will go).

Don't forget to review, my dears. I did keep my end of the bargain, so keep yours!

Anila.


	21. 20 Pocketbook of Sue Horn Signals

**Unbetaed**

Written as I await my new computer (!), and the files within which include chapter 19. I figure I don't want to keep you guys waiting anymore than you should. But I honestly did not mean to get my computer spoiled just as I finished the last chapter. Stupid Murphy's Law – but, on the bright side, apparently I don't start school until June, so I'll have more time for this.

Disclaimer: If you claim that I claim to own the Lord of the Rings, I will sic Neena on you.

Warning: After eleven chapters, I can finally omit the SuperSue from my list of warnings. However, the standard ones still apply.

OoOoOoOoOo

There was, of course, a full week of celebrations. _Of course._ Orc liquor flowed aplenty amongst the SoS, and even among the more adventurous men and women of Minas Tirith. They (the men and women of Minas Tirith, that is) did not know why they were celebrating, but hey, it was a chance to get drunk and be merry. High quality wine was quaffed by the higher ups of the SoS – namely Koss, the Ringwraiths and Legolas (although Koss sometimes dipped into the strong liquor and the Ringwraiths couldn't exactly quaff drinks, except for Frodo.) Neena was given water, and was allowed to play with Figwit for the whole week. (Figwit was, understandably, scared out of his wits. Legolas was heard saying that his brother's expression made wine all the sweeter.)

Sauron, however, broke out his special brew. A single (seemingly bottomless) bottle, its contents rumoured to have been made before Morgoth had been banished into the Void. Yes, that _old_. The liquid was dark red (not blood-red, thankyouverymuch), almost black, and had a rancid odour that only Sauron seemed to enjoy. The Dark Lord also seemed to be the only one who could drink the stuff – or, indeed, the only one who could stand to be in the room once the bottle had been opened and left to breathe. Even so, Ruler over all of Middle Earth had never before drunk more than a thimbleful of the stuff at one time.

Subsequently, (as in, after drinking a _goblet full_ of 'Sauron's Superlatively Strong Snifter') the Dark Lord was found on the citadel, more drunk than a Man swimming in an ocean full of Elvish Dorwinion, doing –

Hmm. That's funny. All records show that something _did_ happen, but none specify what. They must either be burnt to a crisp, omitted, or missing.

Guess which one wins you the Stuffed Sue-Head™?

Anyway, whatever the Dark Lord did is not as relevant as the sulking he did after he found out. It is this, I think, along with the shock of the Valar!Sue's death that kept the other MarySues at bay for as long as it did. And by 'shock', I mean the sudden lack in sunshine, cutesy animals and easily-seduced males (or females, for that matter). With the death of Chloe (may she find unrest in pieces), the influence of MarySues had plummeted dramatically.

Hmm? Oh, the heroes? What of them?

They were thrown into the dungeons, of course. (Eowyn, Gandalf and Gimli were in there as well, all of them without memory of what had happened. Lucky them. Then again, it is probably for the best, as they would have been enraged at what the Sue did to them. As it was, they were merely amused at the expense of the other heroes.) Did they celebrate the SuperSue's death? What sane being _wouldn't_?

Besides, I heard that the Orcs gave them festive food that whole week. And if the Orcs' idea of 'festive' is to put different poisons in all the plates of food except one (and in so doing, force Aragorn to use his mad ranger skillz, starved the prisoners _and_ added amusing suspense)…well, we certainly cannot grudge them for their, _ahem_, unique opinion on such things. That would be called discrimination, which is not much tolerated in the ranks of the SoS.

Those who have read the books (or watched the extended version of Return of the King) should know that I mean. If you are unsure, then consult the books (or the movie), flipping to the part where Gorbag and Shagrat fight over Frodo's 'pretty shirt'. Koss had been most displeased, and both Gorbag and Shagrat were made examples. Whatever she did worked, because the unity of the SoS has never been stronger.

Anyway, we shall dismiss past goings on at the tower of Cirith Ungol for present goings on at the Tower of Guard. More specifically, at the highest level of the city. More specifically, in Koss' Quarters. You shall be the lucky firsts who get to see what the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity does on an off-day (and let me tell you, there are never very many of those).

(In case you had not noticed, Koss' holiday had not yet been approved. Let us just say that is would have not been wise approaching one's employer when he was a: rip-roaringly drunk, or b: sulking worse than the Authoress did when her computer died.)

**I resent that. I do not **_**sulk**_**. (goes off to a corner to sulk.)**

We find Koss standing in front of a Middle-Earthian easel (made out of Sue bones, if you must know), on it a large piece of Sue Skin stretched over a wooden frame. It seemed that besides making durable leather, Sue Skin was also better than canvas. Cheaper, too. Do they even have canvas in Middle-Earth? Nah, never mind, digression.

Yes, you've guessed it – Koss has a secret passion for painting! Surprising, is it not? I'm sure you didn't think that someone like Koss _could_ have a vaguely normal hobby, but you were wrong. Although, admittedly, it was the _only_ vaguely normal hobby she had. Just so you know.

Right now she was having trouble. The subject of her painting would not stop moving! At this rate, her painting (which she had decided to title 'MarySue being Skinned Alive by Harad Officer with Blunt Breakfast Knife') would be completely ruined. While the MarySue had been strapped down, she could still struggle slightly, making Koss' portrayal less than accurate. It wasn't obvious, but it was there, and it irritated Koss. Ironic that a 'perfect' Sue could be the cause of imperfection. They were usually the cause of idiocy, hormones and panic among lust objects.

She sighed. This was why she preferred still life. She hadn't had this problem with 'MarySue, Picked Clean by Carrion', or even with 'MarySue's Brain; A Study'. And you couldn't even say that the blood could be used as 'realistic' red paint – because we all know that dried blood is brown and flaky and looks like a sauce stain. Oh, you don't know that? Hmm…I don't know if that says more about you or about me.

Ah well. At least there'd be more Sue Skin for future projects. And if anyone commented negatively on her painting (which no one ever did, for some odd reason) she'd just say that it was abstract. As a rule, anatomy anomalies could be acquitted by abstract, anyway. Wow, looked at the alliteration in that last sentence. I'm a poet and didn't even know it. (Poetry is about more than just rhyming, you know.)

Fortunately, we are saved from this rather egotistical digression by a knocking at the door. To be more accurate, it was more of a furious banging, which is what one must do to be heard over the Sue's tortured screams. (Or is that 'tortured Sue's screams'? 'Tortured Sue's tortured screams'?)

It was Legolas. He looked nervous.

"What?" Koss demanded impatiently, not wanting the MarySue to die before she was finished. That was another problem with live models.

"I think there's a MarySue running amok," he said.

Koss poked her head out of the door. "I see nothing. She is obviously not following you."

"No, but –"

"Did you see her?"

"No, but –"

"Did you hear her?"

"No, but –"

"Did you at least hear the Dark Lord screeching for help?"

"No, but –"

"But you _think_ there is a MarySue running amok."

"Yes. I am not completely sure, you see." He pulled out a copy of 'The Pocketbook of Sue-Horn Signals (Tengwar version)' – another popular book in Mordor – and flipped through it. (The prince had initially overwhelmed when he was given copies of the Sue Books. To give you a rough idea of the amount of books, I can tell you that he could have started a small library with them.) "Although I'm willing to bet that I heard five short blasts, followed by two long ones, but what followed could not have been –"

"What?" She must not have heard from inside her Quarters, what with the screaming of the Sue. She'd have to rectify that. Some kind of acoustic system, perhaps…

"It's true. But what's _really_ odd is the horn signal that followed – if it _was_ a horn signal. I wasn't sure if it was a joke, or –"

"What was it?"

Legolas looked a little apologetic, as if embarrassed to continue. "Well, I could've sworn it was the first few strains of 'Itsy Bitsy Shelob' the spiders at home used to sing to their young, but –"

"WHAT!?" So surprised was Koss, that she managed to use multiple exclamation marks. She quickly ran and threw her painting supplies onto the table, grabbed Grond Jr., brained the 'model' with said mace, ordered the Harad officer to clean up the mess, and then ran out of her Quarters. Legolas, somewhat used to Koss' mannerisms, followed.

"How far did the signal get?" she shouted over her shoulder.

"Up 'til 'Out came the Dark Lord and banished all the Light', I think."

Koss cursed loudly (only slightly startling Legolas this time) and sped up.

This was not good.

OoOoOoOoOo

Page 42 of the Pocketbook of Sue-Horn Signals has this to say on the subject of multiple horn blasts:

_**Five short blasts**__** – MarySue from another world**_

_**If followed by one long blast – from 'Earth'**_

_**If followed by two long blasts – from another 'fictional' world**_

_**If followed by three long blasts – find the person giving the signal, conk him upside the head with his Sue-Horn and shove his copy of this book up his nose.**_

So we know that there is a Crossover!Sue running about. Hmm. Maybe the Sue Story she had read to exorcise the Sodding-Heir-of-Isildur had somehow invoked this particular MarySue into being. That did not bode well. Why? Because it would mean that the other Sues could be…no. It was doubtful. It was well known that Crossover!Sues had more power than ordinary Sues.

Anyway, in the fourth chapter of the Pocketbook of Sue-Horn Signals (entitled 'Tunes as Warnings') it says:

_**Itsy Bitsy Shelob**__** – pertains to the cleverness of the MarySue**_

_**As you might guess, the longer you play/hear the song, the smarter the MarySue. Please note that if the song goes past 'banished all the light', you should either pick the MarySue off from a distance, or let Koss handle it. The latter option is recommended.**_

_**Twinkle, Twinkle, Telumendil**__** – pertains to the shininess of the MarySue**_

_**1 – 3 lines, any SoS may engage the enemy.**_

_**4 – 5 lines, Goblins, Orcs and Ringwraiths are advised to stay away.**_

_**6 lines, only Men and Elves of the SoS can approach the MarySue.**_

Also, scribbled at the end of this chapter was a late addition which Koss made all the SoS put in at the last meeting (just after arriving at Minas Tirith). Although it is not particularly important to the storyline, it is this:

_**Namárië, Namárië, Namárië**__** – pertains to the presence of a GaryStu**_

_**If this song is heard at all, it is generally recommended for male SoS to attack. **_

_**If you are **__**Legolas, **__**stay away.**_

OoOoOoOoOo

"Who are you?" the Sue asked.

"Is that really relevant? It is you who is the intruder here."

Koss and Legolas had found the Sue in the Dining Hall, only a few rooms away from where the Corsair had first seen her and raised the alarm. The MarySue, wearing reasonable boots and clothes, appeared to have grasped the concept of fashion as was dictated by sense and surroundings – quite a rarity amongst Sues. Then again, a Sue who was smart was a rarity as it was.

"That seems reasonable." The Sue smiled, and Koss was rather disgusted to note that even intelligence could not deter a Suethor from describing teeth as nothing less than 'pearlescent'. The effect gave them a mouthful of teeth that ranged in colours from off-white to grey-black – because pearls can be both white and black. These people were writers. Should they not have better vocabularies?

"My name is Davy Jane, and I hail from Port Royale."

Legolas blinked. What an odd name. He hadn't heard such an odd name since Ravara's nickname for herself – wait…No! Not the memories! The princeling shook his head sharply, doing his best to block out the repulsive recollections, unintentionally looking like he had a very acute form of constipation. He also did not notice Davy Jane looking at him oddly. Which was just as well, seeing as it would not have helped his Manliness – excuse me, _Elfy-ness_ – any. He was still recovering from the blow that was Koss' latest addition to Pocketbook of Sue-Horn Signals. (Even if that blow had come several months ago.)

Koss frowned. She remembered Port Royale…someone had mentioned – of course! The would-be pirates, Sparrow and Turner! (And, yes, although they claimed Port Royale to be in Earth, Koss very much doubted that they were from the same Earth Suethors hailed from. She had taught the SoS well, if the Corsair's signal had been anything to go by.) Why on Arda was the Sue here, though? She already had eye-candy, seeing as Turner was a Legolas-lookalike.

"And…what are you doing here?"

"I don't know, actually. I was using my goddess-like powers when I blacked out – then I awoke to find myself here. Odd, isn't it?" The Sue brushed dark hair away from an equally dark face. (It was also odd to find a Sue who didn't have 'ivory alabaster skin'. Why one wanted to have a medical condition related to lack of skin pigment is beyond me.)

"Goddess-like powers?" Koss asked with clenched teeth. Her last experience with a female with goddess-like powers had not been very…_fun_.

"Oh, yes! I am the daughter of Tia Dalma – or, actually she's called Calypso. Turns out that although she was known as some kind of voodoo-woman, she actually is the heathen god of the sea trapped in a woman's body. She was pregnant before my father betrayed her, so I got some of her goddess powers. I was told this by her on the night of my sixteenth birthday, just yesterday. Today I was to try and develop my powers – obviously, something went wrong, else I was brought here by fate."

Koss began to smile wickedly. She rescinded her earlier thought of a smart MarySue being a bad thing. As smart as they were, it was pretty much accepted that _any_ excuse they gave to their being transported into Middle-Earth was as ridiculous as their backgrounds. Plus smart Sues usually understood what Koss said in the first place. This Sue's story was especially preposterous, and Koss would easily be able get rid of this Sue. She glanced at Legolas.

"Watch and learn, princeling." To Davy Jane, Koss forced a smile on her face and said, "I'm afraid I have some bad news, Davy Jane."

"Oh, just call me Vy, everyone else does." A tinkling laugh, which made Legolas shudder slightly, and then 'Vy's' forehead wrinkled daintily. "What do you mean by bad news?"

"You see, we don't have a goddess like that here. Here, in Middle-Earth, Ulmo is the King of the Sea and the Lord of Waters. There is no Calypso or Tia Dalma." Koss voice sounded odd, as if her words were forced. Then again, one might have difficulty trying to sound kind when you've never had the need to before. I'm just saying.

The Sue's brown eyes went wide. "You mean…"

"Yes. She doesn't exist."

"So…that means I don't have goddess powers."

Koss refrained from sighing. She should not have expected miracles – it was a MarySue she was dealing with, after all. "Well, not quite. It means you have no mother. She does not exist."

Even more dainty wrinkles on Davy Jane's beautiful forehead. "That can't be right – my father would never lie to me! Other people, yes, but not to me! I'm his darling daughter!"

"Your father?"

"He's called Davy Jones (that's where my name is from, if you didn't notice). He was tasked with the, uh, task of ferrying the souls of those who had died at sea for ten years, and then he would be allowed to set foot on land for a day. Of course, he became tentacle-y later on, but he still loves me and my mother, and he even thought me how to play the organ."

To Koss, that seemed like an extremely odd bargain. Perhaps immortality was also on the table. Because it would be stupid if it wasn't – I mean, if you started at age 20 and died at 80, you'd only have a week on land. She cleared her throat. "I am…ah, _afraid_ that he doesn't exist here either. Mandos is the keeper of the Houses of the Dead, and the summoner of the spirits of the slain. We have no Davy Jones."

Davy Jane seemed to be thinking hard for a moment. No doubt there would be permanent wrinkles on her forehead. "So…" she said slowly, "my parents don't exist in this world?"

It was impossible for Koss to hide her smirk. "Yes. And if your parents don't exist, then –"

"I don't."

There was the sound like that of a marshmallow exploding (although neither the sound nor marshmallows are supposed to exist in Middle-Earth) and Davy Jane was suddenly gone. All that was left in her place was a pile of letters. And I don't mean letters as in written missives – I mean letters as in the things that made up the alphabet. That certainly was interesting effect, if a little odd. Ah well. Koss was sure that it would be easier to clean up than glittery blood. Not that she did actual cleaning up.

"What was _that_?" Legolas asked, succeeding in not gaping.

Koss smirked again. "That, princeling, was the power of Logic."

OoOoOoOoOo

Meanwhile, the Dark Lord Sauron had just emerged from his Quarters. He had decided that enough time had past since his earlier…_activities_. Ahem. Anyway, if anybody dared bring the subject up, he'd have them fried faster than anyone could say "Mordor Fried Squirrel", or even "Krispy Kitten". It was very convenient being the Dark Lord who ruled the world. Besides, he was _bored_. He planned on ordering Koss to organize some sort of entertainment for him – not a Sod Hunt, seeing as the last one had brought misfortune upon them.

However, when he stepped out into the hallway something launched itself at him. Something small, with chubby features, sharp teeth and orange eyes. Sauron was sure he had seen the creature before, and remembered asking his Sanity Keeper about its origins. Koss had had an odd expression on her face (like she was trying to smother uncontrollable laughter) and would have answered, had there not been a cheer amongst the ranks of the heroes. Sauron had been distracted then, what with ordering the heroes to be put into the dungeons and celebrating himself. He regretted it now, trying to get the creature off him. Finally he held the thing at arm's length, studying it with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

It grinned at him and held up its arms. "HI, FADDER!"

Morgoth's balls, it had a loud voice. Sauron would have liked to check whether his eardrums had burst or not, but doing so would have forced him to put the creature down – something he was not willing to do. I mean, come on, it could get into his rooms and wreak havoc! Moreover, he had no idea whether this Thing was a new form of MarySue. It looked…vaguely…female. Maybe.

Its mouth opened again. "Whewre you been, fadder? I've been pwaying wif my pway-mate, Figgy! Kaws said you wewre sul-suwl-suwlking. I not know what that means. But I foun' you! Do I gets a pwrize? Kaws said that I hafta ask you fowr a Wawg, fadder, so can I? Can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I –" It broke for a deep breath, and continued, "Can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, huh, huh, huh? Fadder, can I have a Wawg? Pweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?"

Sauron's eyes widened. This was a fey creature he had never dealt with before. His course of action was obvious. A moment's resolve and it would be done. Yes, no time for second thoughts – he knew what to do to the creature.

Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly's_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera, opened his mouth and yelled:

"KOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

OoOoOoOoOo

Hey, loyal readers and reviewers! (Insert standard wish for the both to be the same.) How are you? I'm fine and dandy, because school doesn't start until June. I think. Anyway, I figure I should follow the examples of many authors and start writing in advance. So I'm off to work on chapter 21, toodles!

Don't forget to review!

Anila.

P.S. I know ffnet has the new (and slightly cool) poll feature – I've used it. However, I'd still like to hold a poll here because that way you people can give me more detailed answers and/or suggestions. So here goes.

Question: What would you like to see happening next?

More random MarySues (requests welcome!)

Hero torture

Escape attempts by said heroes (either failed or successful)

Father-daughter bonding time

A new Major Challenge (something like Chloe, but not quite as annoying. Hopefully.)

Other (kindly specify)

This won't take too long, especially if you're one of my regular reviewers. Just put in your choice (a – f) and additional comments should you want to. You can have up to three choices. Thanks once again!

Review!


	22. 21 Mirror Maze of Madness

**Unbetaed.**

I've never been so ahead of schedule. Then again, maybe it's because I've gone back to the 6-page chapters, instead of the lengths of the monster chapters 18 and 19. Thank Iluvatar, I say! Although I do concede that it would be better news for me than for you, seeing as there'll be less content in the chapters, although I'll probably update sooner. Probably. (Not very likely.)

Disclaimer: I own a new computer, but am no closer to owning Lord of the Rings.

Warning: I've just realized; why should I warn you of anything? That would give away the surprise, nasty or otherwise. (EVIL smiley face.)

OoOoOoOoOo

Unfortunately, although Koss had heard her employer the first time, Sauron had the tendency of calling her name at high volume until she was actually within sight. This was annoying, but she and the other Servants of Sauron had gotten used to it. Unfortunately for Sauron's eardrums, Neena seemed to think he was playing some sort of game, and mimicked her father. This was even more annoying, and unsettled everyone who had not before heard the SuperSue-Spawn's voice. (Figwit was in his cell, curled up in foetal position.)

"KOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

"KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWSSS!"

"KOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

"KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWSSS!"

"_KOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"_

"_KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWSSS!"_

And so on and so forth.

As soon as Koss rounded the corner, Sauron gave a relieved shout. He would have thrown his arms up instead, but there was that issue of the creature he was holding. A creature that seemed to brighten at the presence of his Sanity Keeper. Hmm. Ah well. He would get an explanation soon enough. Especially because he was a master at using the Voice™. And the Voice™ had a way of getting answers, with a success rate of 114 percent.

"KOSS –" ("Kaws!") "– WILL YOU KINDLY TELL ME WHAT IN MORGOTH'S NAME THIS THING IS? PREFERABLY _NOW_, BEFORE SOMETHING DISTRACTING HAPPENS."

The Elleth winced. She had wanted to put off this explanation for as long as possible, seeing as she had no idea whether the Dark Lord would react favourably to the news or unfavourably…the latter being the more likely. After all, there had been numerous Sues who claimed to be his long-lost daughters from ridiculous unions – most commonly raped Elleths – and Sauron was always annoyed for (at least) a month afterwards. Not even shoving Goblins into Mount Doom helped his ire. Koss didn't think this would be any different – except for Mount Doom being a ways away. It was best she get straight to the point, especially because she was sure she could feel a slight earthquake coming on.

"She is your daughter, my lord."

There was a pause, in which Koss looked at Sauron, Sauron looked at Neena, and Neena squealed for no apparent reason.

"CLARIFY."

"Well, she was spawned by Chloe –"

The Dark Lord flinched visibly. "NEVER MENTION THAT…_NAME_ AGAIN, KOSS." ("Kaws!") "PASS WORD ON TO MY MINIONS – ANYONE WHO DARES UTTER IT WILL BE SENTENCED TO UNSPEAKABLE TORTURE."

Koss bowed her head. "As you wish, my lord. Anyway, she was spawned by the SuperSue, and when she acted decidedly un-MarySue-like, she was disowned. I took her to Isengard to be killed, but she…ah, terrorised the Wargs." ("Wawgs!") "To make a long story short, she helped me with the killing of the SuperSue, and is more useful to us alive than dead," Koss finished, correctly guessing what her employer wanted to do with Neena.

"SO, SHE IS NO THREAT TO MY…WELLBEING?"

"No, my lord. She is not a MarySue, no more than I am."

As this was the most credible vow Koss could ever give him, Sauron nodded. "HOWEVER, KOSS –" ("Kaws!") "– I DO NOT WANT TO SEE THIS THING NEAR MY QUARTERS. BAD ENOUGH THE MARYSUES SEEM TO FIND THEIR WAY THERE, BUT THIS THING…" The Dark Lord broke off, muttering curses under his breath.

Koss made a face. His order was not easily obeyed, mostly because Neena had a mind (and agenda) of her own and Koss had very little control over the SuperSue-Spawn. Plus she was not some _babysitter_ – she did have other things to do besides see to Neena's behaviour. And she couldn't just leave Neena with Figwit all day; she was easily bored, and Figwit would eventually build up immunity to Neena. (The latter was not probable, but still plausible.) The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity decided to tell this to her employer straightaway, guessing that Sauron would not at all like the news of how close his daughter's Quarters were to his.

She was right.

OoOoOoOoOo

The next day dawned bright and clear. Although it could hardly be bright, what with the sun being pretty much obscured by dark clouds (as it had been since Sauron had taken over, discounting Chloe's brief reign). It was also not very clear because of said cloud cover. Come to think of it, it was hard to tell whether it was morning or not, much less whether it was dawn. Sigh. Just let it be said that a day has passed since the previous scene, give or take a few hours.

Faramir, Brother of Boromir, Marrier of Shield-Maidens, Spare-to-the-Heir, Son of a Pyromaniac, Ex-Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, the Unusually Lucky, Sole Owner of the (My-Father-Tried-To-Burn-Me-Alive-How-About-You?) shirt, The would-be Steward of Gondor of the would-be King of the Reunited Kingdoms if Karma Didn't Suck, et al, had just woken up. He was not sure whether he had fallen asleep yesterday (or what felt like yesterday) or fainted, as he had given up his share of food to the Hobbits. That, paired with the torture he had been subjected to before this – running away from a bevy of Sues and a group of Orcs at the same time – had given him a pretty low blood sugar level, causing mild dizzy spells. There is a lesson to be learnt from this. It is; always eat balanced meals at regular intervals. Or, it could also be; never insult an Orc's intelligence by assuming they will be tricked or will be asleep when you and your friends attempt to escape. Maybe. He wasn't too sure about that last one.

Anyway, he thought that he was still suffering from a lack of energy, seeing as he was obviously delirious. He was (apparently) surrounded by numerous copies of himself. As he sat up properly, so did they. In fact, these constructs, these figments of his imagination, seemed to mimic all his movements, but they didn't utter a sound. His sharp intake of breath at seeing the sheer number of replicas echoed slightly, but was alone, although all the clones opened their mouths accordingly. Faramir decided to get up, but stumbled and threw out an arm to steady himself. That was when he realised that he was not dreaming. The clones were not clones, they were reflections.

Faramir suddenly remembered when he and Boromir were younger and had discovered that holding up two mirrors directly opposite each other caused there to be an infinite number of reflections, stretching away into space. (The fact that they later got into trouble for breaking said mirrors is totally beside the point.) However, whoever had constructed this place had been incredibly careful, because no two mirrors were directly opposite each other. It was impossible to tell what shape they were in, or where the exit was, or even if there _was_ an exit.

Of course, you would suggest that Faramir break each mirror to find his way out. Certainly, this would be the most logical course of action. Faramir thought so too. His knuckles protested, though, but went unheard, right up 'til the moment they scraped painfully across the surface of the mirror. Really, he should have expected it. After all, even if the mirror _had_ broken, he would have had worse injuries seeing as shards would undoubtedly lodge themselves in his skin – imagine what would have happened if he had to break multiple mirrors. Obviously these mirrors had been enchanted, covered by some sort of invisible barrier, or at least made out of an unbreakable material.

Nursing his bruised hand, Faramir thought quickly. If he was in a hellish place like this, then it was clearly a torture chamber. Perhaps the others would be in here too! He needed to see if they were anywhere nearby. There was safety in numbers, after all. He cupped both hands around his mouth and hollered.

After a few moments, he realised that even if there were other people in this place, it was unlikely they could hear him. Perhaps there was another enchantment to muffle sound. He sighed. There was no other choice than to try to exit though the trial and error method. Trailing the fingers of his unhurt hand along one wall, it wasn't long before Faramir found a passageway. He could just reach both sides of the narrow-ish corridor if he strained a little. He continued down this walkway for an indeterminate amount of time, growing more and more uneasy. Even before becoming a Ranger, Faramir had had an excellent sense of direction. It was a bit unusual and disconcerting to have no idea where he was going, not even the knowledge of which direction North was. Then again, when every slight movement was multiplied thousand-fold, it is understandable that the ex-Captain was thrown off balance. Not literally, of course.

He walked in silence for a long time, so he almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a muffled 'hello!' Faramir cheered inwardly. Praise the Valar! There was someone else nearby; hopefully they would be able to get out together. He was about to shout back, when it came again: 'Hello…! Hello…!'

Faramir's shoulders sagged. It wasn't somebody else calling out to him – it was the echo of his earlier holler. Ye gods – that would mean that this place was _huge_! Beyond huge! 'And,' he conceded in his head, 'I will not find a way out by just standing here and lamenting that fact.' So he gamely trudged on, calling on his reserves of patience and endurance and being-able-to-walk-long-distances-without-going-batshit-crazy. I hear you get a lot of training in the latter by becoming a Ranger. Ah, I see digression has wormed its way into my story yet again. My appo-loagies. (**1**) I mean, my apologies.

Suddenly, he caught a flash of pink at the edge of his vision. He turned, and gazed straight into the midnight-black eyes of Lipanthyl Fenofibrate (**2**). Not that he actually knew the Sue's name, of course. He just started running – as much as one can run when surrounded by mirrors and while having no idea where one is going. Fortunately for Faramir, he had only caught sight of the reflection of Lipanthyl in her pink-dress and pixie-winged glory. Unfortunately for Faramir, Lipanthyl had caught sight of _him_. And, even more unfortunately, she was a Faramir!fangirl.

"SQUEE! FARI!"

Said Son of a Pyromaniac didn't dare turn around, and instead did his best to increase his speed. He came to a fork (or so he assumed, because he couldn't reach the mirrors on either side of him, and he bumped into the mirror in front of him) and unhesitatingly (well, unhesitatingly as you can be when you've just hit your head) took a right, hoping that by doing so, the MarySue would lose sight of him. No such luck. The person who had designed this place had calculated the positions of the mirrors so well that you'd be able to see someone from miles away, and think they were just beside you. And vice versa.

Faramir saw his reflection running straight at him and realised that he had just come to a dead end. And the MarySue had gained speed, realising that her lust object had just stopped. ('Omg,' she thought, 'he's soooo cute! He wuz playin' hard 2 get, bt now he's waitin 4 me! Lyk, he's such a gentlyman!') Faramir cursed loudly, and pounded his fists on the mirror in frustration. Was Eru really so cruel as to have him suffer this fate? As if answering that very question, a trap door suddenly opened up from under Faramir's feet, and he gave a surprised shout as he fell.

Lipanthyl Fenofibrate, already running full out, did not realise this, and smacked face first into the end of the corridor. Something broke. Not the mirror.

OoOoOoOoOo

Meanwhile, Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elfstone, Strider, Thorongil, Estel, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Longshanks, the Dunadan, wielder of the sword of Elendil, Sodding-Heir-of-Isildur, Gornie-kins, His Royal Soddingness, Owner of The Ring of Barahir, named Wingfoot, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, The would-be King of the Reunited Kingdoms if Karma Didn't Suck, Bearer of the Star of the North, The One Of Too Many Names, Envinyatar (the Renewer), He-who-beats-Death-to-a-pulp, Just Add Water, etc, etc, was having an easier time. He was as lost as Faramir, but he had not yet been beset by a MarySue (or GaryStu, for that matter).

Not yet, anyway.

Right now he was cursing the fact that his mad Ranger skillz were not helping him in any way. Then again, it was hard to tell which direction was which, especially when you were constantly distracted by your own movements multiplied thousand-fold. The corridor he was walking down curved slightly to the left, and he wasn't sure of how far he had walked – he could have been walking in circles, for all he knew. There were no markers, no way of finding out whether he had passed by a certain stretch before – just endless amounts of identical mirrors, with their maddeningly endless amount of reflections.

Suddenly the ground beneath him started to shake. No, no, not shake – it vibrated. The juddering was not so intense that Strider could fall, but managed to travel up from his feet to the rest of his body, making his teeth rattle in his skull and his eyesight blur. Belatedly he realised that it was not only the ground shaking – vibrating – it was also the ceiling. The ceiling was lowering! It wasn't very obvious at first, but once the reflections behind him started being cut off at the head, he knew he was in (**censored**).

Not bothering to curse under his breath (he instead screamed obscenities that echoed away into nothingness), Aragorn ran as fast as he could. He had an advantage – two, in fact; the ceiling was lowering at a slanted angle, and; it was doing so fairly slowly. However, the vibrations of the floor were incredibly distracting, and combined with the chaotic mirror images…well. It took him awhile – and here 'awhile' means until he had been forced to catch his breath – to figure out that while the ceiling was lowering, so was the floor.

He felt incredibly stupid. If Sauron were present, he would have taken the opportunity to make a malicious remark or two. Nevertheless, Sauron is _not_ present (not in the traditional sense, anyway) because it would be rather difficult for the Dark Lord to fit in the low-ceilinged corridor. At any rate, it is currently unimportant to our story, as I am sure you are all curious to find out what will happen to Estel. Unless you happen to have another lust object – but we shall speak no more of the matter. It is unimportant.

Well, once the vibrations stopped and Aragorn's teeth were no longer in danger of being worn down by friction, the would-be king decided that the only thing he could do was to continue down the corridor, albeit in a more cautious fashion. He was sure that any place that had moving corridors and two (or more) floors would not be safe in the slightest. He needed to get out, or at least find one of his friends. This chant going on in his head, Strider now did what he did best – he _strode_. Yes, yes, pun intended – I was trying to be smart. Obviously that didn't work.

It was not a long while later that he found the door. Or, at least he supposed it was a door. It looked exactly like the panels that made up the walls, except that it had a knob – which was also, curiously enough, made of the same reflective material. What were the odds, he mused, that he would find the exit so quickly? He didn't think he was that lucky. There was probably a horde of Orcs outside. But…he could kill Orcs. Any chance of escape was better than none. Aragorn grasped the handle and opened the door.

Standing there was a little girl, eyes like two miniature dying suns, looking vaguely toddler-ish in her dark coloured clothes. They sort of resembled Earthian kiddy dungarees, except for the fact that there was a cape included. Needless to say, Taylor the Tailoring Nazgûl was very happy that Neena did not share the same fashion tastes as her father (and the rest of the sane SoS). Digression aside, Aragorn did not need to see the girl's sharp toothed smile or sense the aura of EVIL about her to know who she was. Figwit had recalled many a tale of woe at the hands of this SuperSue-Spawn, and Aragorn was inclined to believe that if anything was to scar _Figwit_, it would be beyond horrific. (**3**)

Beyond the girl was a room or corridor lined with mirrors. Aragorn knew that the key to freedom would probably be in that direction. And he would undoubtedly be able to outrun the girl – he wasn't called Longshanks for nothing, you know. But…Figwit had warned them all about Neena. So he had two choices. Either he could try to dart past the Daughter of Sauron and try for escape in a place he was unfamiliar with (relatively speaking, anyway), or, he could turn tail and run along the corridor he knew for a fact was straight. Not much of a choice, really.

Aragorn _ran_. Neena followed, squealing.

A few moments later, the Ranger found out that long legs counted for nothing.

OoOoOoOoOo

The Dark Lord giggled. Though, if anybody within hearing distance was asked later on, they would say that he sniggered EVILly. If they wanted to live happily ever after, of course – or, if not happily, at least 'not-scorched-to-dust-ly' ever after.

He sat in front of what looked like a chessboard (albeit one that had several see-through boards hovering on top of each other, and was apparently crossbred with a Chutes and Ladders), with little miniatures of everyone inside. Unlike Neena, Sauron could not (as mentioned earlier) fit in the corridors of the Mirror Maze of Madness™, although he would dearly have liked to torture the Sodding-Heir-of-Isildur himself. But, seeing as the board in front of him was a mini-model of the place and he could activate any trap he so wished with just a touch, he did not mind all too much. (Hey, that rhymed. Sort of.)

They were in Osgiliath. (Sauron had wanted to have it renamed 'Sod-You-Mortals-I-Won-Anyway-Neener-Neener-Nee-Nerr', but had changed his mind when he realised that the mortals in question would be more demoralised if he kept the name as it was. Besides, it meant that it would be harder to fit the address onto an envelope.)

Half of the city – the middle bit, to be precise – had been sacrificed to make the Mirror Maze of Madness™. Surrounding it were SoS encampments, and then a new wall that was over ten metres high and nigh impregnable whenever the drawbridges were up. Sauron had always liked drawbridges and moats, and was finally able to realize this dream in Osgiliath – a place that actually had water. Although you would say that lava was more dangerous than water, there would be fewer complaints about the heat from the SoS. Besides, the Corsairs had found an interesting type of fish during one of their many voyages. They were effective whenever Sauron was bored and tossed a Goblin into the moat, if the screams were any indication.

All in all, the city of Osgiliath had been transformed from crumbling-and-constantly-fought-over to scarily-fortified-torture-complex.

But we are drifting away from the topic at hand. (In other words we are digressing. Again.)

The Mirror Maze of Madness™ had been designed by Koss when the Dark Lord had tired of dressing up Orcs as Sods. She had had the original idea of turning a maze into a house of mirrors. Of course, she had calculated the adequate amount of traps needed to make the place unnecessarily dangerous – and then had purposely ordered more. Only after the stonework had been put down did they actually place the mirrors. It seemed that the Haradhrim were skilled at making mirrors – how else would they be able to make sure their war-makeup was on right? Over a thousand mirror panels were used, and the Harad in charge of their positioning had to retire from service, claiming faulty vision and a permanent migraine.

On its trial run, they had used a bevy of Sues, each separated and placed in different areas of the MMoM – they didn't want the MarySues fighting and killing each other, after all. (That was what the MarySue Theatre was for.) (**4**) Various creatures had been let loose as well; including members of the SoS, a couple of Mordor Wargs and a few of Thuringwethil's vampire friends. Koss had also gleefully pointed out to her employer where all the _interesting_ traps were – like the Chamber of Giant Poisoned Spikes, the Room Half-Filled with Water Occupied by Unknown Creatures that Brush against Legs, and the all time favourite Giant Whirring Blades of DEATH. From then on, it had been one of Sauron's favourite pastimes, second only to Sod Hunting.

Unfortunately, because they were trying to preserve the heroes' lives for as long as possible (to maximise suffering), most of the aforementioned traps couldn't be used. Even so, Sauron was having the time of his life. He was beginning to warm up to Neena, mostly because of what she was doing to the Sod at the moment. He watched that with some interest for a while, and then shifted his attention to Thuringwethil, who had taken the form of one of the Hobbits (Merry, he thought) and was purposely misleading the other Hobbit. Meanwhile, a GaryStu had literally got hold of Eowyn and refused to let go despite the Shield Maiden's protests. Delicately, he touched the square under their miniatures. It glowed slightly, and then disappeared altogether, and both tumbled down the newly opened trapdoor into the Room Half-Filled with Water Occupied by Unknown Creatures that Brush against Legs. What? The monsters in there didn't eat anybody.

Not all the time, anyway.

Sauron giggled again. Er, I mean, he sniggered. EVILly.

OoOoOoOoOo

(**1**) From the comedy series Blackadder (season 2) which I do not claim to own.

(**2**) The name of a drug, which I also do not claim to own. And by drug, I mean medicine.

(**3**) Because the heroes don't think of Figwit as a GaryStu, they are somewhat affected by him.

(**4**) This is homage to the actual MST concept, which I do not own. I haven't even written any of my own (yet).

Yay. Another chapter finished. I have sprained my wrist yet again, so do not expect the next chapter anytime soon, although I am writing in advance. It's hard typing with only one hand, especially your non-dominant one. Yes, I'm fishing for sympathy. No, I have no shame.

And the contents of this chapter were written before I got the results of my poll in the previous chapter, and it's extremely coincidental that hero torture got the most amount of votes.

I think that's about it. Oh, did you know that this fic is novella length, even without the A/Ns and the footnotes, etc? Wicked. Though I think that might be a sign that its end is coming. It's not set in stone, though, so don't worry. Instead, review!

Anila.

P.S. I'm sitting here on the 24th of May, editing this on my mother's laptop. Why? Well, first my computer spoiled, and right after I got that back, my monitor went berserk. The bad news is that I'll get it back on Monday, but I'll be in KL at the time. No computer until next Sunday. Plus I've managed to sprain my left wrist since I finished the chapter. So…probably gonna be a long while before the next update. Hopefully this'll tide you guys over.


	23. 22 Muffin

I am dedicating this chapter to every reader of this story, especially to those who have reviewed/added this to your favourites

I am dedicating this chapter to every reader of this story, especially to those who have reviewed/added this to your favourites. Without you, I wouldn't even be writing this. Well, maybe I would, but at a slower pace. If that's not too hard to believe.

Warning: Temporal disparity. Alright, not really, but something like that. The normal warnings apply.

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own LoTR, and it is getting rather difficult coming up with different disclaimers for every chapter.

OoOoOoOoOo

A month later (or three weeks and two days, to be exact) found the Dark Lord, all but four Ringwraiths, Koss, Legolas, Aragorn, two Orcs, and a MarySue in the Sod Hunting Range™. There was also a magenta-and-cerulean cat perched on the Sue's shoulder, but that is rather inconsequential, especially seeing as the mere existence of cats is debatable in Middle Earth, whether or not it is oddly coloured. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a large, slobbery and slightly crazed animal burst out of the shrubbery, and…

But I'm getting ahead of myself. We should perhaps rewind it to a little earlier.

OoOoOoOoOo

Although Sauron had gotten used to the fact that he actually had a daughter, it didn't mean that he was _fond_ of Neena (Morgoth forbid). She was cute, granted, in an odd kind of way – and she did share a lot of his interests. But she was also annoying, and paraded around in that ridiculous cloak of hers. Plus her rooms were right next to his, for Ungoliant's sake! So Sauron was cautiously affectionate, as much as an unspeakably EVIL Dark Lord could be affectionate in any fashion. He gave her gifts when she wanted them, and expected Koss or one of the other SoS to deal with the consequences.

This, of course, was why Koss stood before him now, trying to explain to him that a Mini Mount Doom™ really wasn't a suitable gift for a toddler-thing.

"Why not? I mean, it's not as if she's going to hurt herself with it."

Koss sighed tiredly. "It is not a question of her hurting herself, my lord." Indeed, it was doubtful that the SuperSue-Spawn could even do that. "It is the question of her hurting anything and everything around her."

The Dark Lord blinked, or at least Koss assumed that he did. "So?"

"So, my lord, she is currently frying small animals and bits of the SoS!"

"SO?"

"Well, my lord, I can understand the advantage of having lots of…Krispy Kittens™ and suchlike." Sort of, anyway. "But Neena has managed to injure _forty-four_ members of the SoS! That's seventeen Goblin archers, fourteen swordsmen, nine Corsairs, three pike-Orcs and a Troll! A _Troll_!"

Sauron did not look convinced.

"She also managed to set No. 7 on fire… twice!"

In fact, he was looking rather amused.

"And almost melted Legolas' face off!"

Sauron giggled, er, snickered EVILly. Koss decided that it was time for drastic measures.

"Neena also has the Ring."

Now Dark Lord Sauron (greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly's_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera) started laughing in earnest. Many of the inhabitants of Minas Tirith clutched at furniture and walls and each other, unused to the tremors.

"Now, now, Koss, you can't possibly think I'd believe that, would you?"

"My lord, I am telling the truth." And indeed she was. The mini-SuperSue had somehow gotten hold of the One Ring and was currently dangling it on a fishing rod. Over the previously mentioned Mini Mount Doom™. Koss thought that if she strained her ears enough, she could hear the Ring's frightened begging. If, of course, the Ring could talk aloud and not project its 'thoughts' into minds. See? Even Koss' thoughts digress sometimes. It's not all me!

"Don't be silly. The Ring is right here, on my – WHERE'S MY RING?!" Sauron had just taken a look at his finger, which conspicuously did NOT have a gold band around it. The result of his panic was evident in the way his Voice of DOOM™ became more high-pitched than doom-laced.

"As I said, lord, Neena has it. She's dangling it over the Mini Mount Doom™."

"THEN THE VOLCANO SHALL BE REMOVED STRAIGHTAWAY! MAKE SURE YOU GET MY RING BACK TOO, KOSS! I WANT IT BACK FIVE MINUTES AGO! OR, ACTUALLY, SEVERAL DAYS AGO! YOU GET WHAT I MEAN! UH. YEAH! THAT'S IT! YOU MAY GO!"

"Very well, my lord." Koss said, trying her best to keep her face straight.

The ex-Prince of Mirkwood was waiting outside the door. There was a piece of black cloth covering almost all of his face except his right eye, secured by a metal circlet (not unlike a certain anime character that I do not claim to own. Cough). This was not because his face had been burnt by the mini-lava of the Mini Mount Doom™. No, he had put up too much of a struggle for his skin to have been melted by the not-so-mini heat. Instead, Legolas had gotten a rather nasty collection of bruises across his face, and a black eye. Every single one of these contusions was shaped like a tiny fist. Obviously, the Sueling (**1**) had not taken kindly to Legolas trying to escape. The cloth was there to hide the imperfections on his face until they healed.

"What did he say?" the wood Elf asked worriedly, voice slightly muffled.

Koss didn't answer for a long moment, as the humorous memory of the Dark Lord's answer replayed in her head.

"Sanity Keeper?"

"Hmm? Oh, he agreed to get rid of Neena's new toy. Good thing too, Pavlov told me that the Houses of Healing here are too small to deal with even twenty percent of the SoS. Damn, I forgot to ask the Dark Lord whether we could convert the sixth level into a medical wing. Remind me to ask Him the next time. Or maybe I'll just get Pavlov to ask Him himself. Yes. It doesn't say in my job description that I have to do _everything _around here."

"Is…is that _all_ he said?" The look on his face could have been described as 'puppy-eyed', if Koss ever thought puppies were natural beseechers. It was more accurate to describe it as a Neena-eyed look, if anything, and would have been more effective if three quarters of his face had not been covered by cloth.

Koss gave Legolas a look, knowing why the princeling had asked the question. She really didn't think that Sauron gave a damn about Legolas' face, and wondered why Legolas would think He did. Legolas was not stupid – or at least, not _that _stupid – and this was most unlike him. But even though the Sanity Keeper _knew_ that Legolas was asking for purely selfish reasons, her mind was supplying her with unbidden images nonetheless. _Many_ unbidden images. That fan-fiction that she had used to exorcise the Dark Lord and the princeling did not help matters. Inwardly, she shuddered. Outwardly, she whapped Legolas upside the head.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Just in case. Let's go. We can collect Figwit from the dungeon on the way, so that Neena'll be distracted when the Dark Lord arrives."

This not-so-subtle change of subject was apparently effective, because Legolas brightened perceptibly at the mention of torturing his brother. Thoughts of his face were left behind, at least, for the moment. (**2**)

OoOoOoOoOo

As it happened, Neena was quite happy to abandon her Mini Mount Doom™ (and her melting the Ring scheme) in favour of chasing after Figwit. The fact that she would have been happier to burn off the Acronym Elf's hair with the mini-lava is totally beside the point. Besides, as a toddler, (or a humanoid creature that resembled a toddler, anyway) the Sueling had a very short attention span. She didn't even realise that the Mini Orodruin was gone after Figwit had been locked up again.

Short attention span or no, however, there was one thing Neena never, ever forgot to ask.

"Can I haf a Wawg today? Pweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?"

And, as always, Koss' answer was the same.

"No, Neena. Not until your father says so."

This was usually the end of the conversation, where Neena would sulk and mutter under her breath about her 'fadder'. Then it was time for dinner (of which Sauron used to be at as well, but after the Food Fight debacle of July, the Lord of The Rings chose to have dinner in his private chambers), and then bath time with her favourite Medium Squid (as opposed to Giant Squid), followed by a bed time story by Legolas and 'sleepy time'. I will deign to point out that Legolas did this task willingly, as he had developed a soft spot for the Sueling. Hey, who wouldn't like the thing that scared the life out of their brother? _I_ would. Digression.

The reason why Neena had not yet acquired a Warg was a simple one.

Koss never asked Sauron.

You may think this mean of the Sanity Keeper, but just think, if the Sueling could temporarily incapacitate forty-four members of the Servants of Sauron™ with a mini-volcano, how much damage would she be able to do running amok with a Wolf at hand? Precisely. Neena may have been a key factor in defeating She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-Else-Risk-Unspeakable-Torture, but she had little to no ability in telling apart EVIL and good. Yes, Koss was trying to train the SuperSue-Spawn. And yes, Neena instinctively knew what a MarySue was, but until she could tell the difference between an Orc and a Hero, there would be no pets. This system actually worked quite well, mostly because Neena never went beyond the initial question and subsequent grumblings, and due to the fact that Sauron maintained as little contact as possible with his daughter.

Worked quite well, of course.

Until today.

Today Neena went to dinner, and then forwent bath time to sneak into her father's quarters. She was able to get in while the Dark Lord was having his dessert, and managed to grab a strawberry flavoured eye before Sauron could think to put it on a higher table.

"What do you want?" the Dark Lord asked, not unkindly. No, he asked slightly kindly, with a hint of uncertainty and a drop of panic. Alright, alright. A large dollop of panic. He was sitting on his hand that had the Ring on it. Just in case.

"I wants a Wawg, fadder! I wants one NOW!"

Sauron blinked. "You want a _what_?"

"A WAWG! I wants a Wawg! An' I wants it now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now –" (break for air) "–now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, now, **NOW**!" Neena stomped her foot at the last 'now', and the whole building shook.

On the other side of the building, and one floor down, Koss looked up from the report she was reading. Then she shrugged and returned to the piece of parchment that detailed the progress of the Sue-Slayer division of the SoS (If you were wondering what happened to Thrall, he was now one of the lucky, or unlucky, few to be accepted into the new program). If there was a problem, doubtless someone would come running for help. And if there was a Sue, there'd be the horn signals.

Unfortunately (for Sauron, anyway) the cause of the semi-earthquake was not a Sue, it was a Sueling; and just to add insult to the injury, that Sueling was his daughter. He wanted her out of his quarters, and he wanted her out five minutes ago. Or, actually, he would have liked her out several days ago, but that rather spoils the phrase. And it is another example of digression, of which there are many in this fanfic. It's become something of a norm, hasn't it?

Wow, I digress from my digressions.

Where was I…? Ah yes. To get the Sueling out of his quarters quickly, Sauron did what he always did when faced with her.

He agreed.

On the other side of the building, Koss felt a foreboding sensation. She sighed.

OoOoOoOoOo

Exactly four months and ten days after the last one, Sauron decided that enough time had passed and that he could now hold a proper Sod Hunt. There probably wouldn't be any interruptions in the form of a SuperSue (Koss had reassured the Dark Lord by telling him that it was not likely that there would be another one within the year. She did not, however, mention where she had gotten the information. Just so you know, it was told to the Sanity Keeper in a dream, by a mysterious figure known only as the Authoress.), but even so, Sauron was taking no chances and had upped security. And by upped, I mean had half the Nazgûl (numbers 3, 5, 6 and 9, incidentally) on their Fell Beasts, with orders to kill MarySues on sight, including any and all dragons.

Regrettably, the Sue I mentioned earlier didn't travel by air. In fact, she did not travel by conventional means at all. But let's put that out of mind first. Because the Sod Hunt was proceeding as planned and it was going well. How can I tell, you ask? Well, see for yourself.

(TREE–EXPLODING–AND–CATCHING–ON–FIRE–SOUND)!

…What? You try looking for one word for the sound that makes. Onomatopoeia ain't that easy, folks. (And no, I'm not just talking about how to pronounce it, either.)

"I CAN SEEEEE YOU!"

Aragorn cursed under his breath and had to throw himself forwards into a bush to narrowly escape the lightning bolt that had been aimed right at him. The bolt made short work of another tree while the Ranger scrambled to his feet and continued running as silently as he could. It took him a few seconds to realise that his tunic was on fire.

"**(Censored)**!"

He managed to throw himself into a nearby pool. This was a bad idea, particularly because it seemed a little too conveniently close. Although the water _did_ put out the little tongues of flame licking at his clothes, it was also _scalding_. Besides, bodies of water and heirs of Isildur (and Isildur himself) did not mix. I mean, Isildur got killed when the Ring slipped off in a river, and not too long ago Aragorn was flung over a cliff and into another river. And was this aversion to water the reason Aragorn so enjoyed being a Ranger and getting really, really dirty for long periods of time? No comment.

The would-be King of the Reunited Kingdoms if Karma Didn't Suck practically shot out of the pool of EVIL water in record time. Even dolphins had nothing on him, if dolphins existed in Middle-Earth. Who knows? They may have done so, a long time ago, before moving to our world. It would have explained the goldfish bowl that had been found in Hollin before it had been destroyed; the beautiful glass one that had the words 'So Long and Thanks for all the Fish' engraved in it. Then again, maybe not. (**3**)

Anyway…

As soon as Thorongil touched ground (the beautiful, sweet, non-boiling ground), he got back on his feet and continued running. Phew. Let us pause time as we catch our breaths – very few of us have stamina equal to that of Aragorn – and kindly ignore the unintended double entendre. However, the Ranger did not get very far. This was not solely because of the semi-alive vegetation that sometimes grabbed at him with their tendrils and/or vines. It was not exclusively due to the lightning bolts Sauron kept shooting at him. Nope, this time it was because someone had suddenly materialised in front of him with a loud 'crack!'

Once Aragorn caught sight of whom he had collided with, the effect was more instantaneous than when he had jumped into the pool. Really, Sauron's pride would have been rather wounded if He had known that MarySues put more fear into the heart of the Sodding-Heir-of-Isildur than He did. Of course, seeing as the Dark Lord's pride was more wounded by the fact that a SuperSue had managed to control his mind and that His own daughter terrified him, He didn't mind unduly.

"Ohmigod! R u, lyk, Aragon?"

OoOoOoOoOo

"KOSS!"

Said Sanity Keeper sighed quietly to herself before jumping off the tree branch she had been sitting on. "Yes, O' Dark Lord?"

"I'M BOOORED."

She blinked. Not because she was surprised at the whiny tone Sauron had adopted. (Hey, she'd been working for him for 923 years, 9 months, 16 days, 4 hours, 38 minutes and 12 seconds. Now 13 seconds.) No, the foreign concept was that Sauron was declaring a Sod Hunt™ _boring_. It was inconceivable. "P-pardon, my Lord?"

He glared at her balefully. "I SAID; 'I'M BOOORED'. THE SOD HAS BECOME TOO PREDICTABLE."

"But, my Lord, you _love_ Sod Hunts. You used to have them multiple times back in Mordor! And I mean multiple!"

"YES, BUT THOSE WERE ALWAYS ORCS, AND THEY WERE ALWAYS DIFFERENT. THIS IS THE SAME SOD, AND HE'S GOTTEN BORING."

Ah. That's what he meant. Koss raised an eyebrow. "Would my lord prefer it if we shuffle the heroes?"

The Dark Lord was inclined to look blank. "WHAT…YOU MEAN LIKE PLACING THEM IN ONE STACK AND MIXING THEM UP AND THEN DEALING THEM OUT TO THE OTHER PLAYERS?"

"_No_, my Lord." Eurgh. Most of the time, such as now, Sauron's choice of words left something to be desired. (In this case, the 'something' meant 'Middle-Earth's form of aspirin'.) "I mean using different heroes as Sods each time we have a Sod Hunt. You know, the ex-King of Rohan, and then the ex-captain of Ithilien, then the younger brother of Legolas…et cetera."

"Oh," He said, after a moment's deliberation. "Alright, then. We shall implement the change straightaway, _yes_?"

One didn't argue with the Dark Lord when he used that tone of voice, even if Koss was the only one in the SoS who could argue with the Dark Lord with impunity (which meant without getting fried to a crisp). "Yes, my Lord. As soon as we find the Sodding-Heir-of-Isildur, we shall choose another Sod." This was actually one of her employer's more reasonable commands; find the Sod and replace him with another hero.

Of course, nothing could ever be simple. Oh, no. Because that's when the Valar decided that now would be a good time for there to be a Sue Horn Signal.

'**Censored**,' Koss thought.

OoOoOoOoOo

Her name was Sakura Kawasaki Oohlookitmyexoticness, and she was beautiful. Not in the traditional sense of the word (because, omg, traditional beauty is _soooo_ cliché), because her straight turquoise hair was not the type usually immortalised in song. Unless you were part of some bizarre hair dye commercial, which is drifting a little too far away from the topic than is comfortable. Her perfect body was flaunted by her kimono – a garment usually thought of as modest, as it also usually had a hemline that touched the floor, not the wearer's knees – while her pink eyes were particularly hated in the day and age of this world.

There was a cat on her shoulder. A cat with magenta fur and cerulean ears. The colour combination was anything but pleasing to the eye and somewhat distracted people from the fact that it could talk. It's name was Neko, which really says a lot about the creativity of its owner. (And for those of you who don't know, 'neko' is the Japanese word for 'cat'. Don't quote me on that I'm only assuming, after hours of watching various anime.)

Now, Sakura was rather special.

**Snort. Since when **_**aren't**_** they SPESHUL?**

_If_ I may continue…?

**Be my guest.**

Thank you. As I was saying; Sakura was rather special. As mentioned previously, she did not travel via conventional means. She didn't walk (please); she didn't have a magical horse-slash-unicorn that only she could ride (let us all ignore any and all double entendres); she didn't have a pet dragon (thank goodness). She didn't even fly, which was rather common with Sues (whether or not they had wings and whether or not these wings were of the feather variety or the shimmery butterfly kind). What Sakura could do, though, was walk into different places and even different worlds by the simple action of opening a door.

She had not yet thought of the downside of this system. I am not particularly inclined to inform her, but I will give you an example.

Imagine, if it does not sicken you too much, that you are Sakura, or that you have the same power that she does. And as you are walking somewhere to do whatever foul and/or depraved thing you are planning to do, you are suddenly struck by the call of nature. (Whether this is number One or number Two – pardon my preschooler terms – is completely up to you.) So, you run to the nearest water closet, intent on relieving yourself. You finally find the toilet, and yank the door open…only to find yourself knee deep in sand while bombs are being tested not very far away.

And that was _such_ a nice pair of jeans you were wearing.

This is, unfortunately, digression. We are abruptly brought back to the present, where Sakura is trying, not very subtly, to get Aragorn to tell her where Leggy was. She was not having much success, mostly because His Royal Soddingness was trying his best to escape. This wasn't easy, because as you know, the One of Too Many Names was (bar Legolas and Sauron) the hurl-HAREM-hurl member who was most ensnared by Ravara – I mean, Chlo – I _mean_, She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-Else-Risk-Unspeakable-Torture (something to do with spending more time with her, or something. Ick, I know.) Therefore, he was still slightly more susceptible to MarySues than the rest of the heroes, which meant that he kept moving closer and closer to Sakura with glazed-over eyes, then suddenly jerking back violently when he realised what he was doing.

This rather sad cycle was ended when Aragorn suddenly went cross-eyed and folded to the ground. Sakura (and Neko) stared in astonishment as a couple of Orcs quickly secured Strider's hands and legs with rough rope, and then tied him to a pole made of metal (not mithril, because that would have been a waste of good mithril), so that they could carry him between them.

Sakura Kawasaki Oohdidjanoticeherlastnamechanged would have liked to have done something, but rather wisely did not, seeing as she suddenly had blades to her throat.

OoOoOoOoOo

Legolas was not in a good mood. First, he had had to go without the (almost) full-face cover because it impaired his vision, thus exposing his bruised countenance for all to see. Second, was the fact that he had to be present for the Sod Hunt – time that could have been spent torturing Figwit was now being wasted looking for Sues, and making sure Aragorn didn't escape. Thirdly, he had almost been attacked and/or eaten no less than six times by other members of the SoS. Koss had flat out refused to protect him. Something about earning his own right to be there.

The number one reason he was in such a foul mood was because he was bored. _Nothing_ had happened; beyond a few trees being destroyed (he had winced when this happened, out of habit). Legolas would have gladly substituted this duty with babysitting Neena, if only to escape the sheer monotony of it all. He was sorely tempted to scream in frustration and then the Sue Horn Signal sounded.

He whipped out his book, once again more out of habit than anything, because he'd already memorised a good portion of it. MarySue (singular) sighted, too close for comfort. Legolas found his mouth curling. Now _there_ was an outlet for his stress. Koss' influence was rubbing off on him, however slightly.

Legolas drew his knives, and ran towards certain danger with a grin on his face.

OoOoOoOoOo

Frodo was the one who sensed the Sue.

The powers that came with being a Wraith were still new to him – a bit unnerving, but mostly new – and were therefore quite sensitive. Some powers were useful, like being able to be in the Seen and Unseen planes. Immortality (at least whilst Sauron was alive) was also good, although it would eventually take its toll on his corporeal body. Some, like the screechy-ness his voice was starting to develop and the pull towards the One Ring, were annoying.

He couldn't decide whether knowing the positions of otherworldly beings was a practical ability or not. He was leaning towards the latter, seeing as the knowledge didn't come with distance, which was quite inconvenient.

But, as I mentioned above, Nazgûl 9.75 was more receptive than his 'associates'. And so he knew exactly where the 'otherworldly being' was and that it was a MarySue. And he most definitely knew that it would be a Bad Thing if she was as bad as the last one. The Hobbit tugged on Bob's robes, and quickly related the information.

Soon all the grounded Úlairi were gliding towards the threat, just as someone's Sue Horn sounded, the littlest Nazgûl only slightly behind.

OoOoOoOoOo

Two Orcs stood together under a particularly shady tree, each warily keeping an eye out (which meant that they collectively had two eyes out. Uh. Yeah.). They were not looking out for MarySues or for the Sod (not actively, anyway). No, they were looking out for other members of the SoS, particularly their superiors, particularly Koss, because they were not doing their job. No, these two Orcs were enjoying a smoke break. (**4**)

"What I'm saying is that we could make a fortune, old chap," Burzum said.

His 'friend' Ulkum frowned as he puffed on his pipe. "I still don't get it."

A sigh. "I'll explain again. You have Eyes, right? Say ten. And you change it with the funny little coins Men use, right? _Then_, you go change it back into Eyes, and you'll have fifteen. (Or was it fourteen?)"

"So? Seems like a lot of trouble to me, doing all that to get five extra Eyes." Or four.

"We do it big! Like…a hundred Eyes, or something. Then…we'll end up with 105 Eyes."

"I think you mean 150." Or 140.

"Oh yes, quite right, dear fellow. You in, or not?"

"Well, I –"

(TREE–EXPLODING–AND–CATCHING–ON–FIRE–SOUND)!

Both Ulkum and Burzum cursed, and dove further into the cover of the Sod Stalking Range™, quickly emptying their pipes and stamping out the contents.

"Akh, bugger! That was the last of my Leaf."

"If we get this scheme on the road, we'll be able to get more."

"That's true. Why don't…"

"Ohmigod! R u, lyk, Aragon?"

­­­­Both knew what the source of the fell voice was and both were worried about its close proximity. They would have to get rid of the problem before the Sanity Keeper did, hopefully so she wouldn't notice that they'd been slacking. However, protocol dictated that they needed to sound the alarm. So Ulkum did.

OoOoOoOoOo

"Balrog's Balls, Koss! You told me there would be no MarySues!" (**5**)

Koss managed to roll her eyes, sigh exasperatedly and give an elegant shrug, all without stopping. "I am pretty sure this is just a normal MarySue, my Lord. Nothing to worry about."

She could feel his pointed look, glaring into the back of her skull, and wisely she did not turn around. "'_Nothing to worry about_'?" he mimicked. "Then, why, pray tell, are you running?"

Koss winced. "Because I really, really want to kill her?"

"Hmm."

She just _knew_ her employer wasn't convinced. However, stopping was suicide (because it would mean that she would either have to face Sauron, or let the MarySue get away), so she continued sprinting. Koss didn't think that the MarySue would be much of a threat to the Dark Lord, but she didn't like to take chances. Plus, she _did_ actually really, _really_ want to kill something.

"Ohmigod! R u, lyk, Aragon?"

There! Just up ahead, where there was a clearing. Koss burst out of the vegetation, Sauron hot on her heels, drawing her shortsword. (Grond Jr. was in the forgery, being repaired, and having spikes added.) In the back of her mind she noted that two Orcs (smelling faintly of smoke, for some odd reason) had knocked out the Sodding Heir of Isildur and were securing him with rope to a metal pole (these things were located throughout the Sod Stalking Range™ in hollowed out trees, in the instance that the Sod or a MarySue needed to be apprehended). At the exact moment she lifted the blade of her sword to slice the Sue's throat, an Elvish knife got in the way. Legolas appeared on the Sue's other side, a slightly manic grin on his face and five Ringwraiths appeared in a rough circle around them all. No, wait, six Ringwraiths; Frodo had just caught up to the rest.

"Lyk…what's going on?"

No one answered her. Mostly because all of them (bar the Orcs, who weren't really interested in what she had to say, anyway) had more sensitive hearing than humans, because none of them _were_ human and, no, erstwhile humans don't count. This is digressing, which I am wont to do, so I won't bother apologising and will instead continue on as usual. No one answered the Sue because they had all heard something else running through the Sod Stalking Range™ and none of them had any idea what it was.

"Watashi no gambaru hontouni onegai! Daddy, what are these people doing?!"

All the 'people' present were brought back to the, uh, present. None of them bothered to try to understand the first part of the above sentence. They were more occupied with the contents of second.

"'_Daddy_'?" Someone asked.

"Hai! Sauron-sama is my Daddy. Aren't you, Daddy?"

By rights, when those pink anime-style eyes met his, Sauron should have shuddered. However, he is a Dark Lord with a spine, and he was currently an _angry_ Dark Lord. There was only one being in all of the universe who had the right to call him 'Daddy'; and even then Neena called him 'Fadder', which wasn't so bad. And Sauron _hated_ it when MarySues claimed to be his offspring from dubious alliances, which was what Sakura Kawasaki Oohthislastnameismurderonmyspellcheck proceeded to do.

"Shi-zu-ka-sa ya i-wa ni shi-mi-i-ru se-mi no ko-e," she said, by way of explanation. At the twelve blank looks she received – eleven, actually, as Aragorn was more _unconscious_ than blank – she twittered and 'translated'. "My mother is from Japan, at the easternmost corner of Middle-Earth. She died giving birth to me and was a servant girl in Mordor. It was from her that I inherited my katana, capable of cutting down wave after wave of zombies."

None of those present knew what 'zombies' were and only Koss and the Witch King knew what a katana was.

Sakura was unperturbed by this, and flipped her turquoise hair attractively over one shoulder. In so doing, she managed to catch sight of Legolas and would have glomped him had he not been holding a knife at her throat. In a rare flash of intelligence, or whatever passes as intelligence for a Sue, she noticed that Legolas was not trussed up, while Aragorn was slung between two Orcs on a metal pole. From this, and the dark coloured clothing the Elf was wearing, she deduced that Leggy was on the Dark Side as well! Squee! Although this meant that she could no longer angst about choosing her father over her one true love, or vice versa, it implied that she would now be able to live happily ever after with the Elf of her dreams. Never mind that that Elf would rather see her dead.

"Oh, Daddy, I'm so happy!" She exclaimed, not noticing in the slightest that Sauron was beyond _livid_. (Indeed, leagues away, in Mordor, Mount Doom had started rumbling dangerously.) "Leggy and I can be 2gether, and well all b 1 happee family! Tempura!"

Koss sheathed her sword, having decided to let either Sauron or Legolas kill the MarySue. Both were angry enough; she would just have to wait and see who would get to her first. These thoughts were roughly pushed aside when she (and the Úlairi and Legolas and Sauron) heard something snap in the woods. She swivelled her head in the direction of the sound, but saw nothing. Her sword was back in her hand.

Suddenly out of nowhere, a large, slobbery and slightly crazed animal burst out of the shrubbery and clamped its jaws over Sakura's head. Legolas just barely managed to jerk backwards (something to do with his sooper kewl Elf moves, I suppose), while the cat jumped off its owner's shoulder, clearly more self preserving than it was loyal.

Done with Sakura Kawasaki Oohlookmanohead, the creature turned on the cerulean-and-magenta animal anomaly.

"Shimatta," said Neko.

No one paid it any heed, even as the creature crushed it to death between its powerful jaws. This was because they had recognised the figure riding on the creature.

"Neena!"

The Sueling beamed from her position on the monster she was riding. She seemed not to mind that she was splattered in blood, she never did. No, she looked _very_ happy, which made her a sight to see; it is very odd to see a cheerful toddler on the back of a creature currently feasting on the intestines of a miscoloured cat. A creature (whose origins Koss had by now guessed) that looked like a cross between a Wolf and a Spider in a way that should have made sense, but didn't.

"Hello, Fadder! Looks! Look, Kaws! Look, Weggy! Is my Wawg! Muffin!"

OoOoOoOoOo

(**1**) Title for Neena as given by Archangel Uriel – apt, I should say.

(**2**) Yes, I delight in making Legolas as OOC as possible. He's not so vain and evil in canon – but, hey, this _isn't _canon. I burnt that bridge a long time ago.

(**3**) You can tell I just read the Hitchhiker books while writing this, can't you? They belong to Douglas Adams, not me.

(**4**) Meet Burzum and Ulkum, creations of Topgallant (I hope I got the name right!). Which means that they don't belong to me and I strongly recommend you read 'Burzum and Ulkum'. Few stories are more amusing than one that has an Orc reminiscent of an English gentleman.

(**5**) 'Balrog's Balls' is a phrase borrowed with permission. I'll put up the name of the story and author once I remember them.

Here we have the anime/videogame!Sue, as 'commissioned' by TheDreamChild. Seeing as my experience with anime and video games – at least those with females as lead characters – ahem – are somewhat limited, what I have done is a generic anime/videogame!Sue. I think I've made her more of a Japanese!Sue, but only because I needed to make her more unique. Feel free to send me detailed personas of Sue's you've created and want dead. I'll even take suggestions of how to kill them.

Finally, I've updated. You should thank Space Cadet – without that PM, I don't think I would have been prompted into posting this so fast. It's nice to know that some people still care. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed.

Now, for excuses. I blame the lateness completely on school. I never expected it to take so much of my time. Quite frankly, the time between chapters will become longer and longer as the year goes on, until next year. So…don't get your hopes up too high, yeah? I hate doing this, but my wrists are still sprained, and I do actually have to study and things.

Review, lovelies, so I can get over my guilt. Oh, and I turned seventeen a few days ago. Go me!

Anila.

P.S; the Japanese 'phrases':

Watashi no gambaru hontouni onegai – literally, 'My I will do my best really please'.

Shi-zu-ka-sa ya i-wa ni shi-mi-i-ru se-mi no ko-e – a haiku by Matsuo Basho that translates to 'Such stillness – /The cries of the cicadas /Sink into the rocks'.

'Tempura' is a type of food. 'Shimatta' is a swearword, I think.

I don't claim to know Japanese! No offense is intended, nor should it be inferred.


	24. 23 Happy New Year

**Unbetaed**

Disclaimer: I own Neena who owns a Wawg which owns (or pwns, really) all MarySues it meets. I do not, however, own Lord of the Rings.

Warning: I may be a little older (though not as old as my OLD FART of a sister – hee hee), but maturity has hardly had time to sink in. Because of this, the normal warnings apply.

Hey, lovelies. I'm getting a jump on this before another school week starts. Le sigh. If you guys are lucky, I'll be struck with inspiration and will therefore update earlier. As per usual, no promises.

OoOoOoOoOo

House breaking a Spider-Warg hybrid is not an enjoyable task, although one might argue that it is such a bizarre job that the chances of it happening are more than a million to one against (in fact, it was two to the power of two hundred and sixty-seven thousand seven hundred and nine to one against) and are therefore not worth worrying about.

"No! Not on the – agh!"

However, unusual situations seem to gravitate to you when under the employ of a Dark Lord who ruled the world. Particularly a Dark Lord with a Sueling daughter he had no idea how to control. Particularly if you were 'nanny' to said Sueling.

"Bad Muffin!"

The Wawg tried its best to look contrite. Koss was not convinced, because Muffin had not yet managed to believably feign remorse. Though the concept of a many-eyed and many-limbed animal with sharp fangs and a dappled coat of black and brown mastering any vaguely human-like (or Elf-like…or Dwarf-like…or Orc-like…eh, you get what I mean) expression was a mind boggling one.

"Bad, _bad_, Muffin."

Koss snorted to herself softly. She was chiding an animal that was bigger than the largest female Warg in the army (yet smaller than Shelob had been) which was named after a type of cake. Now _there_ was a situation she hadn't envisioned when she'd sworn herself to Sauron 923 years, 9 months and 28 days ago. With a start she realised she'd be turning 2896 soon. It was not something she liked to celebrate, particularly because she had no idea how she'd even been brought into Arda. She'd been called into being at the whim of an idiot Suethor who had had no idea that Lord Elrond only had one daughter, much like Muffin had been called into being at the whim of Sauron, who had had no idea that 'Wawg' was Neena's way of saying 'Warg'.

The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity reached up and whapped Muffin on the nose. Oddly enough, Wawgs seemed to have no sense of smell, despite having a large, wet nose. The creature seemed to depend on its keen hearing (among other things), but its nose was extremely sensitive. It whined and looked properly cowed.

Koss sighed and snapped her fingers. A Cleaning Goblin™ – who was muttering curses under his breath – quickly scurried forward to clean the mess. She really couldn't wait until Urkdúsh arrived. The Warg trainer had been sent a message, and was expected to arrive soon to train and study the Wawg. It would prove a challenge for the Orc (and perhaps he could shed some light on whether Muffin was male or female, which no one had determined, or had indeed wanted to) and Koss would no longer be saddled with the task. She was a Sanity Keeper, Valar damn it, not a pet handler.

Muffin whined again, and its numerous eyes were mournful. Koss gave in and scratched it under the chin, which caused the Wawg to lean into her hand, eyes half closed in bliss. (**1**)

These eyes (plural, people, _really_ plural) snapped open when someone sounded a Sue Horn Signal. Another MarySue from an alternate world, it seemed. Muffin rose to its feet (all six of its feet, in case you were wondering) and was about to bound off, had Koss not snapped, "_No_, Muffin."

A whine was the reply.

"No," Koss repeated, and started walking calmly towards the source of the signal. "Heel," she commanded, and Muffin obligingly fell into step with her. The Wawg tried to overtake Koss thrice, and got whacked on the nose repeatedly as a result. They arrived not ten minutes later, where the corpse of two Orcs and an Urûk-hai were found.

It turned out to be an AntiSue.

Koss was glad that Sauron was off visiting Osgiliath (lovingly christened 'Sod-You-Mortals-I-Won-Anyway-Neener-Neener-Nee-Nerr') with Neena. One would wonder why the Sueling had gone without her Wawg, but Koss had put her foot down quite firmly, and Neena was Not Allowed to take the Wawg outside Minas Tirith until Koss deemed it permissible. Unfortunately, Koss somewhat regretted this decision; she just hoped Neena wouldn't return with another hellish creature, this time a mix between an Balrog and…a Sea Serpent, maybe. She wouldn't put it past her employer and his daughter coming up with something like that, and probably naming it Daisy. Or perhaps Teddy.

Digression. Moving on.

Koss was glad that Sauron was off visiting Osgiliath with Neena because it meant that He would not come into contact with the Sue. Dealing with Sues always put Sauron in a bad mood, particularly the ones that thought themselves long lost daughters, or worse, long lost fiancées. Ravara – I mean, She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-Else-Risk-Unspeakable-Torture – still held a special place in Sauron's memory, if 'special' meant 'OMG must burn out with concentrated BLEACH omgomgomg!!!'

AntiSues were particularly vexing. They managed to be incompetent in every activity under the sun, yet somehow managed to save the day, get the hero(es) and nauseate any sane being in Arda i.e. anyone not under their spell. Koss supposed that their lack of skills would mean that they would be able to have training sessions with their stud muffin(s) of choice, although why anyone would want to send an untrained female into war in the first place was beyond Koss. Logic was definitely not a Suethor's strong suit.

This particular Sue was obviously terrible at swordsmanship. She was holding a shortsword with both hands, dramatically reducing her swinging range. She was also grasping it too loosely, meaning that it kept twisting in her grip every time it came into contact with another weapon (which would probably cause wrist problems in the long run, trust me). There was no footwork to speak of – the Sue seemed to prefer to stay rooted to the spot, waiting for her opponents to come to her, and slashing wildly when they did.

Despite all of this, said opponents kept dying, while there was not a single scratch on the AntiSue.

Before another member of the SoS died, Koss barked out an order in the Black Tongue of Mordor, an order that was immediately obeyed. The Orcs and Urûk-hai were not blind; they had seen Muffin; and if Muffin was sitting quietly, Koss was nearby.

The Sue, understandably, had never seen a Wawg before and immediately gave out a scream. She brandished her sword in front of her in what she thought was a threatening fashion, and exclaimed, "What the (**censored**) is _that_!?"

"The more pressing concern is who the (**censored**) you are," Koss said calmly, placing a warning hand on the elbow of Muffin's foreleg. "Answer quickly, or die."

The Sue narrowed her unremarkable brown eyes, but when Koss glared at her, she quickly complied. (Koss mentally added 'spineless' to the AntiSue's list of exaggerated shortcomings.) "My name is Jane Smith. I am a completely normal teenage girl, with a completely normal life. I suck at most things, including Maths, sword fighting, archery, horse riding –"

The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity automatically tuned her out. She wasn't a hundred percent sure what 'suck at' meant, but she could guess. It was an AntiSue, alright. Overly mundane name, the need to confirm her ordinariness… Koss interrupted her when Jane had reached "scrapbooking" and was about to say "eating".

"Stop."

Jane obligingly did.

"Maybe you should list down what your _skills_ are instead. I don't have all that much time."

The Sue's slightly-too-large forehead wrinkled. "Skills? What do you mean?"

Koss rolled her eyes. That ruled out vocabulary. "What you're good at."

This time it was Jane's nose that wrinkled in confusion, although this action was in no way dainty, no siree. "What I'm good at? Oh dear, I don't think I have any of those at all." She gave a self depreciating laugh.

Koss could tell that Muffin was itching to eat the Sue, but letting her do so rather defeated the purpose of training. She absentmindedly flicked the Wawg's elbow, just to remind it that she was there and Punishment would follow should Muffin decide to disobey orders.

What followed was a moderately long conversation between Koss and the Sue (although it was more of an interrogation than a _conversation_) in which Jane Smith eliminated every suggestion of Koss' (although they were more barked questions than _suggestions_) to the point that the Keeper of Sauron's Sanity felt like letting Muffin loose, the consequences be damned. The Authoress is too lazy to transcribe this…conversation… (and doesn't know where to begin, really) so you will not be able to read it. Suffice to say that it included such things as studies, family ties and pets.

After finding out that Jane had managed to let a couple of guppies die in an hour, Koss was ready to scream out a battle cry and let loose the Wawg of war. (**2**) And then she was struck with a thought. Koss smiled.

"So, what you're saying is that you're bad at everything," said Koss in what could be mistaken as a kind tone of voice, if one didn't know Koss. The SoS present shivered.

Jane nodded happily. "Yes, exactly."

"So…technically that's your skill."

"…whuh?"

"Being bad at everything. That's your skill."

Jane's brown eyes were very wide. "B-b-but that's not – I don't have any –"

"Nonsense. Being inept is your skill, and despite that you manage to be able to save the day. That's pretty extraordinary, isn't it?"

"No, no, no, it's just luck, that's all, I'm not –"

"That sounds very much like a MarySue to me…"

"I'm NOT a MarySue!" Odd that there seemed to be an underlying voice screaming 'She's NOT a MarySue'; a voice that sounded nothing like Jane's as it was too young.

"Of course you are, don't bother denying it. Let's look at the facts. How did you end up in Middle-Earth – by dying? What are you doing in Minas Tirith? How did you manage to kill your enemies without getting hurt at all? And another thing – how come you can speak Westron if you claim to be bad at languages?"

The AntiSue started convulsing, being barraged with such sense. Koss would have been happier if the Sue's eyeballs had exploded out of their sockets, or something to that degree. It would have amused her. As it was, Koss turned to look Muffin in the eye (or one of its eyes, anyway) and said clearly, pointing at Jane Smith, "Attack."

OoOoOoOoOo

Three days later, Koss sat cross legged on her desk, tightly braiding her hair. She idly wondered if it was time for her to cut it again. Then again, looking like a larger version of Neena – albeit without the same eyes – did not appeal to Koss in the slightest, although the Sueling would probably enjoy herself. No, short hair would have to wait.

Happy growling broke her thoughts, and Koss looked up to see Muffin's head in the doorway. The Wawg lifted a foreleg and pawed at the air, as if beckoning Koss.

Koss finished securing her braid before asking, "I assume you can hear Neena."

The Wawg bobbed its head in a passable nod.

"But she isn't here yet."

This time Muffin shook its head violently, ears flopping every which way.

Koss fixed the Pet with a stare. "So there's really no point going now, is there?"

A whine.

"Oh, alright."

OoOoOoOoOo

It turned out that Muffin's hearing was so good that both it and Koss waited for Neena's (and the Dark Lord's) arrival for a total of seven hours, four minutes and twenty eight point two seconds. Needless, Koss was Not Pleased, and would have made this known to Muffin, had the Wawg not suddenly perked up at seven hours, four minutes and twenty eight point one seconds. Point one second later, a loud voice echoed throughout the Fields of Pelennor.

"MUFFIN!"

Said Wawg gave a joyful bark/click, and launched itself at its diminutive master. Most toddlers would run away screaming, or at the very least wet themselves at the sight of such a fearsome creature bearing down on them. Not Neena. No, the Sueling giggled delightedly, stretching her arms out towards the Pet. Muffin took the small 'girl's' cape in its teeth gently, and swung Neena onto its back. The Wawg then bounded back into the Dark Lord's 'palace', the both of them sure to cause mischief Koss would eventually have to deal with.

"Hi, Kaws!" Neena called out in passing, and Koss couldn't help but to smile wryly.

Next up the stairs was Legolas, riding a horse at a more sedate pace. He was grinning from ear to ear, and no longer had the face covering (as all bruises had been healed). He dismounted and bowed his head in greeting.

"Sanity Keeper."

"Princeling. Good trip?"

The Killer-of-Mûmakil's grin widened even more, if that was possible (even for an Elf). "Absolutely. I'm glad Figwit could…_tag along_."

If it wasn't already apparent, Figwit had not gone with them voluntarily, and had not enjoyed the trip in the slightest. Well, except for the journey back to Minas Tirith, of course. But this is rather relative, as he had been held in a Sue Cage™, with a low-level MarySue. It was better than the Mirror Maze of Madness™, but only a little. Not much. Or at all. Hmm.

"Anything interesting while we were gone?"

"Nothing much. Oh, there was a –" Koss broke off, having spotted the Dark Lord and his entourage. This time there were three Trolls carrying the throne, but as previously mentioned, Trolls cannot do Math very well. (Neither can the Authoress, it seems. Forty? That's terrible.) As the Lord of the Rings descended from his mobile throne, all the SoS present (except the three Trolls) kneeled.

"Your Eye-ness," Koss greeted when the Dark Lord stood before them.

"Hello, Koss," the Lord of the Rings said cheerfully, rejuvenated after His holiday. Being away from the almost constant barrage of Sues probably contributed. Although being with a daughter like Neena probably wouldn't have. Although they had been getting along better. Although he still found her a little Freaky. Although the Hero torture probably distracted them both. Although – okay, I'll stop.

"Was it uneventful during my absence?"

"Oh, pretty much, my Lord. Oh, wait, there was a –" Koss broke off again, this time because there was a Sue-Horn Signal. Five short blasts. Then two long ones.

Koss sighed, and ran.

OoOoOoOoOo

"Muffin, no!"

The Wawg managed to stop just in time, and Neena, still on its back, gripped the dappled fur tightly so she wouldn't fly off. The SuperSue-Spawn, although powerful, was still subject to the laws of Physics – including momentum. P equals to mv, after all.

Giving Koss a reproachful look, the Spider-Warg hybrid sat on its hind legs – this was an interesting process to watch, as there were more than two hind legs – so that Neena would loosen her death grip on its fur. Then both Koss and the Wawg caught sight of what the Sue was doing – and with whom – and the animal grabbed its mistress by the cape, and ran out of the room before Neena could – catch sight of it, I mean, not run out.

Koss thanked all the gods listening that the Wawg was intelligent enough to prevent Neena from being scarred. Although the SuperSue-Spawn was immune to gruesome spectacles of blood and gore – indeed, she was the cause of many of these – there were just some things that an 'innocent' should never see.

As I have no way of knowing your 'innocence' level, I shall just intimate that it involved a Monster!Sue, several Orcs (it is not known if they were in their right mind, and it would scare me if they were), _no_ Orc liquor, a couple of handcuffs (or at least crude ones made of chains), an umbrella and a thong (note the singular). You probably wouldn't be able grasp the horribleness of the scene, but then again, you probably wouldn't have seen the anatomy of a common Orc – for good reason.

Let's just say that if the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth had battled an entirely naked army of Orcs, there wouldn't have been a Fellowship, or a Free Middle-Earth.

"Koss, what – agh!" Legolas, looking ill, threw his arms up to cover his face. (Not literally, of course.) "My eyes!"

"Oh, that's right…you haven't seen an Orc out of armour, and without loincloth, have you?"

Legolas whimpered in reply.

"Well, you'd better get used to it," Koss said unsympathetically. "I'm surprised they haven't initiated you already."

This was in no way reassuring – in fact, it was downright frightening – but Koss wasn't in the business of being reassuring. I mean…it was _Koss_.

Grimacing, Koss cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted orders in the Black Tongue. This either jolted the Orcs present out of their hypnosis, or (if they were in their right mind, which I sincerely hope wasn't the case) made them realise that a superior of theirs had just caught them in very compromising positions. It was doubly, if not triply, bad that that superior was Koss.

Once some semblance of order had been established and the culprits more or less clothed (one Orc had opened the umbrella and was holding it in front of his…well, he was holding it at waist level, okay?), Koss asked softly, "_What_ is the meaning of this?"

A few of the SoS gulped, having heard the deadly tone before – but not directed at them. As one, the Orcs all moved to the side, each and every one of them pointing a finger at the Monster!Sue who had been trying to slink away.

What exactly constitutes a Monster!Sue? 'Wouldn't being monstrous be inherently contrary to the perfect beauty of a MarySue?' you cry. Well, yes. But why would that stop a Suethor? (_What_ would stop a Suethor?, that's my question.) You see, although the Sue in question is given characteristics of a monster of the Suethor's choice – different eyes, extra limbs, odd ears, a tail, wings, fangs etcetera, and endless combinations of these. Unfortunately, these so called 'defects' are only cause for angst for the MarySue, and are always, _always_ impossibly attractive to the lust object. After all, you do know what they say about people with fangs and tails, wink, wink.

Actually, I have no idea what they say about people with fangs and tails. I think that's a good thing.

Digression.

This Monster-MarySue was apparently of Orc lineage, although not the Orcs of Middle-Earth. She had green skin, rather like a kiwi fruit (although not quite that furry), and delicate fangs that curved past her lips. Despite this and all laws of genetics, she managed to have fragile, even petite, bone structure. No broad shoulders and jutting forehead for this half-Orc. I will tell you that the other half is human, although I beg you to please not imagine how that came about – oh, wait, too late.

(It was the same when I was told that the Urûk-hai were created from the union of Goblin and Men. Very many squicky images followed.)

Anyway, with such a slender body shape, it _naturally_ follows that she was beautiful. Naturally. Luxurious black hair sprouted from her head, and framing yellow eyes were eyebrows that matched only in colour and not length, sadly. Her attire was reminiscent of the 'Warrior Princess' most inhabitants of Modern Earth called 'Xena'. Needless to say, it was quite disturbing.

"Do not glance upon my face! I am too unsightly!" the Monster!Sue cried, covering her face with her hands dramatically.

Koss ignored this, instead facing the Orcs present. (Careful to keep her eyes on their faces. Shudder.) "I am extremely displeased with the lot of you. Report to Nazgûl Taylor for your new garments, which you will wear until I see fit. Then you will have guard duty at the SoS mess hall, where every single one of your colleagues will see you. Go. Now."

The Orcs, their disfigured faces contorted by expressions of horror, bowed and left. Koss merely sniffed. She hoped Taylor would give them _capes_. She finally turned to the Sue, who was still covering her face. Koss noticed that the Sue's nails were perfectly manicured – and a horrid shade of pink, at that.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped. "Besides corrupting the Orcs?"

Legolas, who was now able to unshield his eyes, did his best to look on the Sue with undisguised contempt. This was not an easy feat after being mentally wounded, and so the Elf came out looking like he was squinting into the face of the sun. Not a good look, even if you were Legolas.

"I – thou can lookest into mine face without flinching? I wouldst have never thoughtest this day wouldst come!"

Koss groaned. "Just get to the point before I kill you."

The Monster!Sue looked the picture of a tormented soul. "I was borne of a terrible union, and –"

"Get to the point."

Koss raised an eyebrow at Legolas' sudden assertiveness, but agreed nonetheless.

Now the Sue looked annoyed. "Well, excuse me, but this is _my_ story. All I'm trying to do is look for my one true love who will love me for my soul, and can look past my hideous deformities."

"Hideous deformities, alright," Koss muttered. "And this 'true love' wouldn't happen to be my companion here, would it?"

Legolas blanched rapidly as the MarySue seemed to realise just who exactly he was. Koss scratched her chin thoughtfully. Just why did the MarySues find the princeling irresistible, anyway?

"Leggy! Squee! Love me, Leggy!"

A dangerously malnourished 42-kg half-Orc ran towards the hapless Prince of Mirkwood, her arms outstretched and a beatific look on her green face. The fangs did not help. So intent was she on grabbing onto the Elf that she didn't realise where his hands were. She impaled herself onto his knives.

By the Valar, that didn't sound as much of a double entendre in my head. Kindly ignore that.

He yanked the blades out of her gut dispassionately, and let her slide to the floor. She disappeared into a puff of yellow smoke before actually hitting the ground. The blood on Legolas' weapons burned off by itself, leaving them spotless. Useful.

"We didn't even find out her name," Koss said with a disappointed air.

Legolas, who had sheathed his knives, looked at her in shock. The Sanity Keeper had a straight face. Then again, it was Koss.

He laughed, and Koss smirked. As she turned away to report to the Dark Lord, she tossed over her shoulder, "Watch your back, princeling. The Orcs might just decide to initiate you today."

Legolas' eyelid twitched. The wind slammed a window closed somewhere in the place, and he ran after Koss.

From the shadows of the room, someone cursed.

"Almost got 'im," growled Ulkum.

"Shire…Baggins," said Yomama, patting the Orc on the shoulder.

"Really? The Sanity Keeper would not mind if we abduct the yellow-haired Elf chap?"

"Shire…Baggins, Shire."

Both Ulkum and Burzum grinned at each other, displaying yellow, sharp teeth. Yomama would have grinned, but teeth can only endure for so long. Instead he screeched.

Already far away, standing close to Koss, Legolas shivered.

OoOoOoOoOo

(**1**) I'm basing most of the actions of Muffin on the family dog, Cleo. Who is currently sleeping like the lazy dog she is =D

(**2**) Um, some Shakespeare quote I read somewhere. "Let loose the dogs of war!"

Ye gods, finally. Sorry for the lateness. I sat down and did my best to finish this, so the bottom half may not be up to usual standards. I just wanted to make sure I updated before the new year came. Yeesh, 2009 already.

Next year is the year of exams. I'm toast. I had an entire book to study during the holidays, and an exam on said book in two weeks. I have not touched a page.

Anyway, I hope you guys had better holidays than I did. A late Merry Christmas to you, and an early Happy New Year!

Review, my monkeys. XD

Alien.


	25. 24 MonkeyBoy

Disclaimer: I don't own the setting, nor do I own most of the characters. The latter may be why I'm introducing so many OCs.

Warning: No, nothing too bad in this chapter. Maybe.

School, as usual, sucks. I would believe that this is pretty much universal, but I loved my secondary school years. Ah, to be young and carefree… XD

OoOoOoOoOo

It was not a good day to be Sauron's Sanity Keeper. Why? Well, try only getting to sleep at four in the morning (or what felt like four in the morning, anyway) due to the fact that your employer has somehow brought a fictional creature into existence by accident for his daughter, and you had to round up said daughter and her pet with a bunch of the SoS who were more of a hindrance than help. Then, you wake up not two hours later to bone-chilling screams (which isn't really the problem; you're quite used to _that_) only to find that your favourite Oliphaunt hide boots have been chewed up and slobbered on. When you've finally found your second-best boots (they were under the bed, along with loads of dust), you find out that the screamer is one of the newer recruits going through his Initiation. Not wanting to be witness to the process (having done so many times before), you return to your room, telling a Goblin on the way to fetch breakfast (as it seems like breakfast time). Unfortunately, when it meets you at your office, it's burnt in all the wrong places, and raw in places that aren't supposed to be. And then, _then_, your employer decides that it is time for to train new recruits. Now isn't the time for holidays, Koss, really.

And it wasn't even seven a.m. yet. Or what was assumed to be seven a.m.

It was lucky that Koss wasn't _really_ in charge of training new recruits. (Lucky for the new recruits, anyway.) It wasn't part of her job description, after all. No, her role (part of her role) that morning – or what passed for morning in that sunless part of Arda – was to pick out any warriors that showed aptitude in Sue killing. Hey, they had a lot of MarySues to dispose of. Why not be entertained while doing so?

She laughed uproariously with Higgins and No. 8 as a MarySue, having gone through an 'impressive' array of poses, was dispatched with a neat decapitation. The Sanity Keeper snapped her fingers loudly, and the Man with the large broadsword was led away by a couple of Orcs.

The SoS had been instructed _not_ to Initiate any new recruits, because they didn't want to lose the newbies so fast. Having them scared was fine, but not so frightened that they committed suicide. (Or ran away. However, the ratio of the latter to the former is so negligible that it can be omitted.)

The next conscript was so stupid that she fell for the 'look behind you!' trick. Twice.

_Good thing the Sue managed to kill her_, Koss thought, rather uncharitably. Then again, Koss was never known to be charitable. Generous in dispensing Punishment, maybe, but definitely not with her words and thoughts.

Pfft, yeah right.

She watched as a pair of twins killed the Sue. Twins were rare among the ranks of the SoS, for obvious reasons. (Or, at least, the Authoress hopes that said reasons are obvious, only so she doesn't have to come up with them.) Koss distrusted twins on the principle that one could masquerade as the other, while the other did mischief. It was Not Good, especially if the twins grew accustomed to depending on each other for everything. She really didn't know what the Valar were thinking when they allowed such mutations, and so nodded approvingly when the Orc Captain, Gragh (sometimes called Greg, though not for very long) decided to separate the two of them.

A platter of gangrenous digits was shoved under Koss' nose, breaking her concentration. This was bad, as the broken awareness decided to apply itself to the contents of the tray, which was Not Good for someone who had had a very unappetizing breakfast.

"Want some, Koss?" No. 8 managed to mumble around a mouthful of something Koss didn't want to think about, and what you all probably _shouldn't_ think about.

"Um…not right now."

"Suit yourself," said Higgins tartly, and seized the serving dish for himself. No. 8 made a displeased sound.

Koss made a face, and instead treated herself to a drink of water. It was one of the advantages of Sauron moving HQ to Minas Tirith – there was actual clean water to drink. Ale and wine were all very good, but water was, well…water. Well, it's actually H2O, or dihydrogen monoxide, which is a colourless liquid at room conditions, and has many important roles in –

Crud. Digression again. Moving right along.

The Keeper of Sauron's Sanity spat out her mouthful of water, while Higgins choked on his 'mouth'-ful of rotting fingers. No. 8 pounded them both on the back, with more strength than you would expect from a long-dead Queen, as the three of them observed the latest recruit.

Unbound, her ringlets of fire-red fell gently to her waist. They framed her heart-shaped face, and perfectly offset her gold eyes. She held a bastard sword (otherwise known as a hand-and-a-half sword) with only one hand, which showed that she had considerable strength in her wrist and arm for someone so slight. She wore no armour, and carried no shield or other form of protection, and her sensible tunic-and-leggings garb had probably made it possible for her to masquerade as a potential recruit.

Oh boy.

Wiping her mouth and chin with the back of one hand, Koss stood. She accepted Grond Jr. from a lesser Goblin with a nod, and strode towards the practice ring.

"I will test this one, Gragh."

The Orc captain bared his teeth in a horrible expression of gleeful anticipation. Not of the ensuing bloodbath between Koss and the newcomer, no – of the Punishment he would bestow upon the underling that had dared make a fool of him by letting the MarySue slip past his nets.

The MarySue – who we will call Nia for simplicity's sake, as it is the short form of five out of seventeen of her main names, which really shows how much place her name would take if I took the time to come up with it – gave Koss a disdainful look.

"Whoa re you?" she asked, the badly spaced sentence momentarily giving everyone a headache – anyone who had a basic grasp of grammar, at any rate. "It h ought I had to fig hta Mar y Sue?"

Koss closed her eyes for a second. This would prove a slight challenge. "Since you are obviously head and shoulders over all the other conscripts, I will personally test you."

Nia was still inclined to look suspicious. "W h y?"

"Because."

"T hat's no tare al rea son."

"Too bad," said Koss, and let fly with Grond Jr.

To her credit, Nia threw herself onto the ground out of the way rather than block the mace with her sword. However, she managed to somersault backwards and into a fighting stance in less than two seconds. The Ringwraiths hissed.

Koss swung forward again, and spun around to follow the blow up with a backhanded strike. The masquerading MarySue evaded both attacks by a fraction of a hair, by bending her body in ways that suggested extreme flexibility, and that made her clothes hug her frame in a very _interesting_ manner. Those who were foolish enough to take notice of this in an audible manner were bundled off for Punishment, regardless of whether they were recruits or existing SoS.

This pattern repeated for some time; Koss would attack, and Nia would (quite literally) dance out of the way, often with a comment that intensified Koss' headache. (By the Valar, even bad Shakespearean was better than the mangled sentences Nia spewed.) Then the bastard sword would be brought forward in a wide arc that Koss was barely able to deflect and/or avoid.

And then Koss started getting forced backwards.

It wasn't very obvious, at first. She pressed her advantage enough for her to actually gain a couple of steps. But suddenly Higgins nudged his female colleague with his elbow (or whatever passed as an elbow for a King long dead) and whispered something in her ear (or whatever passed as an ear for a Queen long dead). A few moments later, and most everyone there knew what was going on – how could they not? Half a step more and Koss would be out of the ring, and she would be forced to forfeit.

Koss was aware of this. She was aware that the Sue wasn't half bad with her sword, although Physics and Biology dictate that she have at least _some_ difficulty. She was aware that her head was throbbing, with lack of sleep and sustenance, and grammar control. She was aware that the range of the Sue's sword made it practically impossible for her to step around the Sue and back into the ring. She was aware that losing, even though it would be a forfeit, would possibly irreparably damage her reputation within the SoS. She was aware of all these things.

She was also aware that Nia was, first and foremost, a Sue.

"Ohmigod, Leggy! Put your clothes back on!"

Nia whirled so fast that her hair smacked into Koss' face. "Leggy? W here?"

Koss adjusted her grip.

"T hat's no t Leg –"

There were no more warped phrases from Nia. It's hard to do that when you've got a spiked mace embedded in your nervous system.

OoOoOoOoOo

It was night-time. Or, at least, what passed for night-time. Neena had been put to bed, and a rotation of the guards had just taken place. Even Sauron was settling down, doing a little light reading (_Sharp versus Dull (Efficiency versus Sadistic Pleasure); a study in bladed weapons_) by the glow of a self-lit orb he had fashioned himself shortly after returning to corporeal form (**1**). The heroes, except for the Sod, were also sinking into sleep, albeit uncomfortable ones. Even Legolas, who had finished his Initiation a few hours ago, managed to doze – unless he moved, of course.

In Koss' room, there was snoring.

You will excuse the Sanity Keeper. She has had an extremely tiring few days.

Yes, Elves have a natural strength that enables them to work long hours without rest. But Elves, although immortal, are still susceptible to weariness. Almost two weeks with naught but five hours sleep stolen in miniscule portions throughout would attest to this. The two hours she'd gotten earlier on was the longest stretch she'd had. Had she been human, she'd put it down to age, but no human lived to 2895 (it would be 2896 soon); it was still considered quite a normal age for one of the Firstborn. Perhaps it was just Neena and Muffin, and their near inexhaustible supply of energy – and capacity for mischief.

If you didn't know better, you'd think someone had deliberately planned for Koss to get this tired.

But such nonsense should be dismissed, I think. There are more interesting goings-on to consider, such as the soft creaking of the door, the cessation of snoring, just for a moment, and a soft indrawn breath which was expelled once the figure on the bed continued sleeping. Then the dangerous and characteristic sound of a blade being unsheathed which, although done quite quietly, was still noticeable in the silent (bar the snoring) room. Noticeable to anyone who was awake, anyway.

Our novice assassin is quite obviously that. The balcony-type window was wide open, to let in the cool night air. It was not inaccessible from the outside, what with the many footholds in the rock. Although it showed considerable skill getting into Koss' Quarters, why not take the easier route? There was no risk of creaking doors, whether or not said creaking awoke the room's occupant.

And why unsheathe your weapon _in _the room itself? Why sheath the weapon at all? You _know_ there will be a noise, no matter how silently you try to make it. In fact, why go with a bladed weapon in the first place? Blunt objects do a wonder on skulls, plus they don't have to be enclosed in a sheath.

It should be worrying that I am discussing effective ways of killing a person, but I've become rather blasé to that, especially after dealing with torture and Sue Sex Scenes (SSS). As are all of you, I imagine, seeing that you are reading this particular piece of fiction. Thanks for that, by the way.

Digression. A thousand and one apologies. Plus a couple hundred extra for good measure, eh?

The 'assassin' crept towards the bed on tiptoe, which can actually be noisier than carefully placed footsteps. Squeaky boots, and all that. There was no carpet to muffle the footfalls, because Muffin had done unspeakable things to the one that had originally been in the room. They hadn't been able to get the stains out at all. Shame, really. It was hard enough getting nice carpets in Mordor (it had been from Far Harad, actually), and it had been harder getting it to Minas Tirith in one piece.

Moonlight glinted wickedly off the sharp edge of the dagger, something only the open and aware eye would have caught. The assassin brought it down in a decisive arc, and –

_CLANG_!

That was not the sound of sharp metal meeting flesh, or even the sound of sharp metal meeting bone. It was the sound of sharp metal meeting sharp-metal-deflecting armour. The snoring abruptly stopped, and what looked like a woman with wild eyes and sharp teeth sat up on the bed, wearing a cuirass.

Someone grabbed the 'assassin' by the hair, and a knife (which had been unsheathed long before) was pressed unkindly against his neck.

"Who sent you?" snarled Koss.

OoOoOoOoOo

"I don't know, old chap, this just doesn't feel the same."

"Ah bah, Burzum, I've explained this to you already. Some damn (**censored**) has broken my pipe, and I don't have Eyes for another. This is just a – just a tem-poe-rare-y solution."

"That's _temporary_. At any rate, it's annoying me, this thing. It keeps coming apart."

"Are you licking it properly?"

"…Licking it?"

There was an annoyed sigh. "Here. Give it to me."

Burzum watched in interest as Ulkum rolled the paper properly into a tight tube, licked a sliver of the paper with a black tongue (not the Black Tongue, incidentally), and pasted the now wet paper. When he handed it back to Burzum, it no longer came apart, representing a pretty well-made cigarette. The second ever made in Middle-Earth – by an Orc, anyway. (The first was stuck behind Ulkum's ear.)

They both had a few puffs; Burzum's more hesitant, while Ulkum exhaled the smoke almost violently. Luckily for the both of them, they were both off duty. Even luckier was the fact that the place they had chosen for their surreptitious smoke-break was rarely visited, if at all. Who had business in the B. Bathroom, anyway?

Well, besides Bob the Balrog.

Burzum flicked some ash into the fireproof sink (the tap of which emitted not water, but lava) and did his best to remove a piece of _something_ from between two stained teeth with a fingernail. When this didn't work, he shrugged, figuring that whatever-it-was had to come out sometime, and it really didn't matter if it didn't. As he brought the cigarette back to his lips, a thought struck him.

"Who was that fellow they found in the Sanity Keeper's Quarters?"

Ulkum gave a dismissive grunt. "Some pointy-ear. Assassin – but not a very good one."

His fellow Orc nodded. Assassins were not uncommon, even though Koss' very identity was still a matter of speculation among the peoples of Arda. There was a memorable incident in Mordor in which a MarySue had actually asked the Sanity Keeper for directions, and had in fact admitted to being there to murder Koss. Ulkum had been one of the lucky few to have witnessed the episode firsthand, and had enjoyed many weeks of free Orc brew and ripe meat as fellow SoS demanded to know what had taken place.

"Who was he working for, then?"

A noncommittal shrug.

"You mean they weren't able to torture the information out of the silly bloke?"

Now it was a shake of the head. Ulkum was not a very articulate Orc, even at the best of times.

"But…," Burzum trailed off as Ulkum again shook his head, already guessing where his comrade's thoughts had turned. The Woman of Secret Shadow, one of the higher ups and a feared vampire, was known for her viciousness when it came to torture. She was more feared than Koss in that sense. Shape shifting had its perks. That, and access to a variety of weapons and torture implements, and things hitherto not associated with torture.

"He just disappeared. Varnished."

Burzum exhaled his lungful of smoke, opened his mouth, then paused and closed it again. "…I think you mean 'vanished'."

Ulkum flapped a hand as if to say, "Same difference."

His companion gave a little huff of annoyance, and there was silence in the bathroom as the both of them smoked. Cigarettes were a novel way of smoking, Burzum reflected, but it really didn't beat smoking a pipe. There wasn't any danger of burning one's fingers, for one.

"Ow! Dammit!"

Ulkum sniggered unhelpfully as Burzum blew at his burned fingers. The other Orc cursed in his native tongue, and reached for the tap, before realising (fortunately for him) that doing so would probably melt his hand clean off. He settled for cursing some more, which amused Ulkum further.

And then came the voiceless roar of…_Bob_.

Both Orcs reacted as one and at once. They flattened themselves against the wall, because the door was already opening, and there was no other exit. Ulkum threw the remains of his cigarette into the sink, wisely deciding that it was too short to keep behind his ear. It would have been wiser still to turn on the tap so that the thousand-degree lava could destroy all evidence, but a large shadowy foot outlined in flame had already stepped into the bathroom. The Orcs could actually feel the rise in temperature.

It was all in vain though. As soon as Bob entered the bathroom fully, he sniffed the air. Then he drew himself up to his full height, horned head just brushing the ceiling, and roared. Ulkum and Burzum clapped their hands over their ears. Bob squatted in front of them and brought his face close to theirs, breathing superheated air at them. Then he opened his mouth, displaying an impressive maw, full of teeth and flame and darkness. It was what countless beings before the two Orcs had seen before being sent to their doom. Or, to Bob's belly. Same difference.

"I not appreciate my privacy disturbed."

Absolute. Silence.

"Hello? I talking."

Burzum hazarded opening his eyes, although it was his ears he could scarcely believe. Bob the Balrog was…speaking Westron. (Both he and Ulkum only knew it because Ulkum was a captain, whilst Burzum had learned by himself, mostly in order to get the Hobbit's Leaf. It was surprising how many people were willing to trade with a person who was covered with a hooded cloak, as long as that person could speak a recognisable, non-EVIL language.) It was not grammatical Westron, and the Balrog's voice was like the crackling of burning paper, but it was comprehensible.

"Um… We did not mean to disturb your privacy, O' Great and Powerful –"

"Is all right. Call Bob."

"…Bob." Burzum cast an alarmed look at Ulkum, who was also rooted to the spot with terror. Surprisingly, the usually-silent Orc spoke.

"We were actually hiding here, O' – I mean, Bob."

The ridge above Bob's eyes became more pronounced as he frowned. The effect was quite terrifying. Or cute, if you liked creatures with hides of flaming scales of darkness. "Why hide?"

The two Orcs exchanged looks, knowing that revealing the information to a higher up was potentially fatal. But _not_ revealing the information to _this_ higher up was _definitely_ fatal. And although they were not expected to live long (as they were members of the SoS, as well as pretty heavy smokers), they still had a few years to their names. And spending those years charred and dead, instead of (relatively) healthy and smoking, well, that was a missed chance indeed.

"We were having a smoke…Bob."

The Balrog brightened at this. Literally. The temperature of the room rose by another degree. Celsius, not Fahrenheit. Not because Celsius is used in Middle-Earth (it isn't) but because I have no idea how to convert Celsius to Fahrenheit. So we use the metric system.

"I smoking too!"

That…was a surprise.

"How…?"

The grinning of a Balrog is a sight indeed. Their dental structure was not designed for said expression, mostly because there were no lips to pull back, and because their fangs jutted outwards, and…well, it was a mystery how Bob managed it.

"Nazgûl 9 ¾ teach me. At first he not like me, because my cousin kill his old friend. But since my cousin dead, and he on our side, we become friends. We smoke behind King's House, sometimes scare Orcs there. Very fun."

Both Ulkum and Burzum blinked simultaneously. Or, rather, Ulkum winked, while Burzum blinked. Didn't I mention that Ulkum only had one eye, not because of a battle wound, but because he'd accidentally poked it out with his now-broken pipe? Oh, I didn't? Sorry, then. He'd lost his right eye when trying to smoke in the dark. It explained his mistrust towards pipes, and why he had taken to cigarettes.

I digress. In other words, I have gone off point, deviated, wandered, went off at a tangent, strayed, and rambled. And then some.

"But…Bob, how do you actually…?"

"Oh, that easy. Give me Leaf." He held out a huge hand, each digit ending in wickedly sharp claws. No light glinted off these claws. No, light _emanated_ from them.

Almost as if under a trance, Burzum took out his pouch of Longbottom Leaf and passed it to Bob.

The Balrog used his claws to delicately open said pouch – which was a treat to watch, as the small bag was barely bigger than his pinky – and tipped its entire contents (Burzum whimpered) onto his palm. The two Orcs watched as Bob's palm glowed a little from within, and the dry tobacco curled, and smouldered. The familiar smoke filled the bathroom entirely, and Burzum and Ulkum (and Bob) inhaled automatically.

Bob the Balrog bared his teeth in his version of a grin.

"See? Easy?"

OoOoOoOoOo

The place we are at is not on any map in Middle-Earth, or even Modern Earth. This is because it was not in either world. If it _was_, it would have been located at one of the Poles, as the walls of the building were made of pure ice. Unless of course the planet was undergoing some sort of Ice Age, which is not the point. The point is that the building we are currently in – for it is a building – has walls made of frozen water, and light streamed in through graceful windows, but did not melt the ice. Which was odd.

In this building there was a throne, and steps leading to this throne, and a figure seated on it.

The figure said, "And?"

"I failed to kill her, master."

"…you failed to kill the Elf with the big heavy weapon thingy?"

"Yes, master."

"I thought I had impressed upon you the importance of this task."

"Yes, master. I am sorry."

"Sorry?" the figure asked. "Sorry? I am trying to take over the world, and all you can say is 'sorry'?"

The kneeling person – who you should have guessed is the 'assassin' – cowered and shrunk into himself. This was wise, because all the figure on the throne needed to do was point at him with one finger, one singe forefinger, and then there was…_agony_.

After what seemed like an age, it stopped. The figure on the throne settled into the seat a little, which one would assume would be difficult, seeing as it was made of the same material as the walls. That is to say, frostbite-inducing ice.

He either didn't notice or downright ignored the two creatures that came and cleaned up what was left of the assassin.

He was thinking of his Plan, and how the Elleth with the big heavy weapon thingy could be taken care of.

Suddenly, he smiled. He knew what to do.

OoOoOoOoOo

(**1**) Sauron was originally Maia of Aulë (the Valar who was the master of all crafts), and so has some mad skillz of his own.

Man, this is super late. I'm sorry, my dears. You have Zuffie to thank – hear that, Monkeyboy?

As it happens, school life has improved a little since the beginning of this chapter. But Mid-Year exams are in, oh, two weeks. Haven't really finished studying. Oh well.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter, and the ones to come. It'll probably heat up from now on, if you hadn't already guessed from the foreshadowing. I am t3h subtle. Please review. There have been a diminishing number of these, which makes me rather discouraged. And that causes updates to be slower. After all, I only updated this time because of my Monkeyboy.

I like Bob =3

Anila.


	26. 25 Good Mood, Bad Mood

Disclaimer: Although I didn't write one for the prologue, I have done disclaimers for every chapter – that's 24, not counting this one. I think you've gotten the picture by now.

Warning: I should have warned myself before writing this story. Although it's brought much fun into my writing world, and hopefully humour to your respective lives, I also write this in lieu of studying. If you all could send letters to my parents and teachers explaining my bad results…actually, scratch that. I'll get killed either way.

Throughout the wait between chapters 23 and 24, I have sprained both my ankles, had my speakers spoil, placed second in the 4 by 100m race, found out my best friend (who said he'd be away for three _years_) will be coming back in a couple of months, got 42 for my Maths monthly test (up two marks from last year, yay) and baked several batches of cookies. And some other stuff, but I can't remember (and I doubt you much care).

I'll only be posting this chapter once I get sufficient reviews. Perhaps I should have left a warning in chapter 24. Oh well. Needless to say, this 'threat' stands for the proceeding chapters. Please, please review. I like 'em, as they tell me that you like this.

Enjoy.

OoOoOoOoOo

Legolas woke up in a good mood.

At least, until he realised what day it was. September the – he dared not utter the date, or even think it in the privacy of his head. (If, of course, the contents of his head were private. This is yet to be determined.) The day he had met Koss, for the first time. One of the many days he'd been under the power of another being, although it had stuck in his mind, also being one of the shortest. Odd that now, 923 – or 924 today – years after he had first met Koss, then Lana, he was now working under her.

Best avoid her. But, now that he thought about it, Koss might know the reason for his avoiding her, and would think up suitable Punishment, Punishment that would be worse than usual because of her Bad Mood. And yet, if he acted as normal, she might perceive him as having forgotten or moved on. This was also Not Good.

Such roundabout thoughts gave him a headache. Bad enough he was walking funny because of the…_Initiation_.

Legolas shuddered.

OoOoOoOoOo

He found her in the weapons training grounds, which was a feat, seeing as he hadn't intended to look for Koss in any way. Legolas supposed that was a good thing. Perhaps.

The White City had a very good array of training facilities, especially for long range weapons. For humans, anyway. There were quite a few rings for swordfights and the like, some simple circles while others were elaborate daises with uneven flooring made of wood, and stone, and packed dirt, with various obstacles to duck under and jump over, as well as traps designed to send a person sprawling or into the air. There were numerous targets for ranged weapons, set up at different distances, heights and angles. Everything was outdoors, seeing as combat could happen in any weather, at any time.

However, there were some items that were obviously transported from Mordor. For example, no Gondorian would come up with the Super Smash Sue-Sisters, which was an odd contraption. It was large, built into the ground, and had many holes along the top like rabbit holes, through which Sues would pop up from randomly. The objective of the thing was to smash as many Sue heads as possible with the club provided. It was also well-used, and one of the Cleaning Goblins™ was scouring the surface of blood.

Furthermore there were a few rings that were fenced off. In these, fights that took place were often bloody, as they involved one or more members of the SoS, battling with one or more of the wilder beasts they kept around. Untrained Wargs, for example, or (more recently) a few of the Mirkwood spiders. The screams that were emitted from these rings were horrible, and so the crowds that gathered around them and cheered were rather large.

There was also a ping-pong table off to the side, but we won't get into that.

**I've always thought ping-pong was rather evil, myself.**

_Thank_ you.

**You're welcome.**

I was being sarcastic.

**Oh.**

Digression.

**Yes, I agree.**

…did you really have to interrupt again?

**I'll, uh… I'll just be going now.**

_Finally_.

Getting back on topic after that pointless and rather asinine interruption (**Hey!**),we see Koss using one of the training devices brought in from Mordor. It was a large spinning wheel, somewhat like the bastard lovechild of a dartboard and a millwheel (please don't speculate on the details of this torrid affair), and was used for target practice (specifically for throwing knives). The target? A live MarySue, of course.

So far the current target had taken on an air of invulnerability, as every knife Koss had thrown had landed just shy of her. This vexed the Sanity Keeper, who obviously wasn't in the best of moods to start with (when was she?), and the MarySue was actually taunting her. Not a good plan of action, especially when you are the one strapped to a large spinning device whilst having pointy weapons thrown in your direction. But she's a Sue. Understandable.

As Legolas neared, the latest knife, its blade simple and its hilt weighted, thudded into the wood, just beside the Sue's ear.

"Ooh, good shot!" he said, just as the Sue taunted, "Ha, ha, missed me again!"

Koss glared balefully at him, then picked up another knife from the large selection next to her. This one was cruel looking, as much as a throwing knife could look cruel.

She threw it. All the Orcs present started clapping, Legolas swallowed uneasily, Koss smiled unpleasantly, and the Sue…The Sue was quiet.

The knife had embedded itself in her head.

OoOoOoOoOo

Neena woke up in a good mood.

That isn't to say she didn't usually. Toddlers weren't in the habit of walking around (or stomping) with scowls on their faces, unless of course they wanted something and hadn't gotten it yet. Neena, however, was a toddler-thing that got what she wanted most of the time. And she had Muffin, for when she didn't get what she wanted (although this didn't really work with Koss). So she was a pretty happy kid.

As she did every morning (or what everyone assumed was morning, anyway), Neena made a complete mess of her bathroom. The bathroom was actually Sauron's, as it was connected to his Quarters, but as the Dark Lord never took baths (why should He?) they had sealed up the doorway leading to his rooms, and had made another into Neena's, seeing as their Quarters were side by side.

And despite having the bathroom door sealed up, Neena still managed to get into her father's rooms. How – now _that_ was a mystery.

Anyway, after getting about an inch of water over the floors – which was a feat, seeing as the bath was actually sunk into the floor, which meant that the volume of water had multiplied, causing the bath to overflow, and not merely spill –, soapy handprints all over the mirrors, and sodden towels in inconvenient places (not to mention the strawberry-and-wet-Wawg scent that permeated the whole place), Neena was then pronounced clean enough for breakfast.

The Cleaning Goblins™, however, mourned the cleanliness of the bathroom.

Neena proceeded to make a mess with her breakfast, although none of this mess got onto her. No, instead the mess made its way onto the floor, the ceiling, all but the fourth wall (ahaha), Muffin, several Orcs unwise enough to pass by the window, and furniture all over the place, inclusive of all pieces of furniture not in the Dining Hall.

Then messes were made in (according to sequence) Sauron's Quarters, the armoury, the Kitchens, Sauron's Quarters, the stables closest to the citadel, the Library, Sauron's Quarters, Legolas' Quarters, the dungeons (although this only referred to Figwit's cell, and even then _he'd_ made most of the…mess), Sauron's Quarters, several taverns in the Fifth Ring, and Sauron's Quarters.

And this was all before noon. Or what was assumed as noon.

Therefore, it should not come as a surprise to see a tired Koss handing out flyers to a few Avari and Haradhrim. They were chosen because of their light feet, and because they wouldn't cause as much panic when walking in the street. Even if the peoples of Minas Tirith were somewhat used to having Sauron as their EVIL Overlord, the sight of Orcs and the like still gave most of them the 'heebie-jeebies'. (This is turn made a few of the more sensitive SoS depressed.)

Oh, yes, the flyers. On each and every one of them (because they were identical, you see) was the picture of Sauron, pointing his finger straight ahead, presumably at the person who was reading the flyer at the time. The One Ring was very clearly seen on his other hand, which was clenched into a fist, and held near his chest. This took up half the page, and on the remaining bottom half were the words:

**EYE want YOU**

**To take up the post of ROYAL NANNY**

**Taking care of Neena Sueling**

**(She's really cute, just a bit of a handful)**

**Applications to be sent to Frodo Baggins**

**(i.e. Nazgûl no. 9 ¾)**

OoOoOoOoOo

Frodo woke up in a good mood.

This was only possible because Frodo was still a new Nazgûl, and still had a corporeal body that needed its rest. His room was positioned strategically between the two most important (to him, anyway) places; the Kitchens, and the Nazgûl Rumpus Room. It always smelled like mushrooms, which wasn't that odd when you thought about it. I mean, he'd spent more than a year without them (more or less). It was only logical that he enjoy himself – while it lasted. But once the Hobbit's earthly body degenerated, he would be unable to eat – _anything_.

I shudder to think what would happen then.

Digression. Par the course, with this story. But, alas, no excuse.

The littlest Nazgûl had a sunny disposition today because yesterday he'd finally been put in charge of something.

It was not a well known fact that Frodo Baggins liked responsibility. He'd enjoyed running the house when his uncle had left Bag End (although he had missed Bilbo terribly), and he'd willingly taken the Ring, surely enough. Problem with that last one was that he'd almost died, and the problem with the first one was that he probably wouldn't see Bag End again (unless he managed to convince the other Nazgûl to shift from Minas Morgul to Hobbiton – but that was another story).

So this was just the thing. Sorting out nannies for Neena – that was as restful as it could get.

He rescinded this opinion by the end of the day. There were certainly some very…_interesting _people. But then, you'd have to be, if you were willing to care after the SuperSue-Spawn even after hearing all the stories of her and her 'horrible' pet. (There were also quite a few MarySues, hoping to get into the citadel to ensnare Sauron/Legolas/insert hero. One or two tried to get _him_, but luckily he'd had the Sue-Horn handy.)

Frodo just hoped that he'd made the best choice.

OoOoOoOoOo

Sauron woke up in a good mood.

After all, He had every reason to do so. He was a Dark Lord who had succeeded in His plan of world domination, and was enjoying the spoils of his victory. There had been a few hiccups (He shuddered as He tried not to think of She-Who-Must-Not-be-Named-Else-Risk-Unspeakable-Torture), but what was life without a few hazards? Granted, He would have been happier without _that_ particular hazard, but meh.

But most importantly He had woken up to a room that was as He had left it last night (or what was assumed to be last night, anyway).

As He walked through His rooms, He was pleased to see that _all_ His things were in order. The books in His personal library were still in their bookcases, and not strewn all over the floor. His breakfast tray was untouched, instead of looking like it had been nosed through and having half the food missing or half-masticated. His collection of weapons, pointy rocks and other such shiny things were all accounted for, and not mysteriously stuck to the ceiling. Plus there wasn't Wawg fur everywhere.

He smiled, and it was terrible indeed. Perhaps He would get Koss or one of the Úlairi to pass on His compliments to the new nanny. Or, perhaps not. Word would get around that Sauron praised His employees on a regular basis – and He had an EVIL reputation to uphold, Melkor damn it.

Ah well. Fear was as good an incentive as praise. Or so He supposed.

Sauron sat, overlooking His city, and ate his breakfast of Krispy Kittens (washed down with the blood of some unfortunate).

He enjoyed it tremendously.

OoOoOoOoOo

Koss woke up in a good mood.

This immediately put her on edge, as she had always ever had an excellent reason to be in one, rare as they were. And yesterday she'd gotten bitten by Muffin. Oh, it had been an accident, and after the Punishment Koss went to the Houses of Healing to get it cleaned and bandaged, but it still hurt like Udûn. And she hadn't even gotten to kill a Sue recently, or even torture one.

Quelling the urge to smile, Koss narrowed her eyes and looked around her room suspiciously. Everything was in place. Not one sign of vegetation.

She quickly changed into a new set of clothes (she'd draw a bath later, or make one of the non-allergic-to-water SoS do it for her) and scrutinized her Wall of Weapons. Although Grond Jr. was out of the forgery – and it looked extremely EVIL – it was simply too heavy for Koss to wield with her less dominant hand. She selected the shortsword she'd used in the Sod Hunting Range™, but just before leaving her room she paused and instead picked up a nasty looking club with spikes. She felt like crushing skulls.

OoOoOoOoOo

Evilman 47 woke up in a good mood.

This was a new frame of mind (at least in the months leading up to today), as he'd previously been displeased, frustrated, in planning mode, or any combination of the three. That's seven types of moods, although non-inclusive of any other minor moods like peevishness or disappointment. Anyway.

And why was he in a good mood? Well, all his planning would be paid off today. Today was the day he claimed his birthright, the day he got what he so rightly deserved, the day he showed his father what he was really made of. (Besides bone and sinew and such.)

This last was strictly metaphorical, as his father was dead, and by Evilman's hand, at that.

He got up off his icy throne, and strode impressively out into the courtyard, where his legion awaited. They were rather intimidating when laying siege to an enemy fortress, although this effect was rather spoiled by the fact that they were all shivering. They did not seem to share their Master's immunity to frostbite. Maybe it had something to do with his genetic makeup – oh, but I am getting too far ahead of myself. Don't want to reveal _everything_, now do we?

Evilman smirked, and lifted a hand. The majority of his army flinched, as they knew what happened to the poor sods that had gotten that hand pointed at them. However, they all breathed a sigh of relief when their Master merely waved his hand at the sky.

"Plane shift!" he called.

And then there was only whistling snow.

OoOoOoOoOo

No footnotes this time, which makes me feel rather odd. And, yes, I know that this is short. Bear with me. I'm not feeling particularly creative today. Maybe it's the juice.

Oh, and in case you didn't know, every time the perspective changes, it's a different day.

Anyway, liked the foreshadowing? Tee hee, I bet not. But it'll be interesting, I can guarantee it. And besides, in my experience, readers mostly review when they're outraged. Damn, I should really stop giving hints.

Still, it's not all bad news. I am opening a spot in the IWNNN family – the Royal Nanny. Yes, that's right, you guys are welcome to apply. Just copy the bolded text at the bottom, and send me an email. But, for those people who I've already written into the story (e.g. Avari Faye, Bree, Fili) I'm sorry, but you are not eligible for this. Unless no one else wants it. *winks*

Anyway, enjoy. Pleasepleaseplease review.

Anila.

**What is your name?**

**Where are you from?**

**Age, gender, hair colour, general appearance.**

**What are your views on MarySues, GaryStus, and the like?**

**What are your views on the Dark Lord Sauron?**

**What do you think of Neena Sueling?**

**How would you make sure Neena Sueling listens to you?**

**How would you discipline Neena Sueling?**

**Are you prepared to accept the consequences of Neena Sueling misbehaving?**

**Do you like pets?**

**Do you like spiders?**

**Do you like Wargs?**

**Have you heard of Muffin, and if yes, what are your views on… It?**

**Do you have any combat skills?**

**Alright. Let's try a little word association test, shall we?**

**Men.**

**Elves.**

**Dwarves,**

**Valar.**

**Butterfly.**

**Leggy.**

**Sauron.**

**Minas Tirith.**

**Thank you. Now, if you don't mind going back to the waiting room, and telling the next candidate to enter. I will announce my decision at the end of the day.**


	27. 26 Snow and Hellfire

Disclaimer: I own my (no longer very) shiny phone, with which I'm texting my friends, and on which there are several drafts pertaining to this story. I own my computer, which has this entire story (and extra pertinent stuffus) saved on it. I own an external hard drive, which has the backup of the aforementioned files in case my computer dies. However, although I own this story, I do not own LoTR. Or Twilight.

Warning: The long wait for this chapter, but I'm pretty sure you all know that. It's been so long between my disclaimer and my warning that my phone went kaput (and I've since gotten a new one for my birthday), and my external hard drive has died as well. Computer's still behaving, though.

Um, hi. I'll just, I…here.

OoOoOoOoOo

It was not everyday that all the alarms in the City went haywire.

By 'all the alarms', I do mean every single one. The sentries by the Main Gate had started up their complicated drum sequence. Well, it wasn't _that_ complicated, as there were Trolls in charge of the percussion-ing, but it was loud. It was heard clearly up on the First Ring of the city, making the teeth rattle in the heads of those beings that _had_ teeth.

The two Fell Beasts that had been soaring above the City were no longer circling around each other and playfully trying to rip each other's wings off. No, now they were _screaming_ as Bob and Nazgûl 9 urged them towards HQ. Bob and Nazgûl 9 had already contacted the Witch King in the unknown way only Úlairi could, and so the citadel was filled with unholy screeching. Even if they could communicate in any and all Languages of Middle-Earth (bar Frodo, who still needed a little more time with the Black Tongue), there were just some circumstances in which the spoken tongue did not do justice.

The human soldiers up on the wall had also taken up their danger signal – in the form of a rather sad sounding bell. I suppose none of the higher ups in the SoS had been bothered to inform the human captain (whoever that was now) that their alarms were rather obsolete. Understandable, as the SoS had only two words for captured armies (which was what the Minas Tirith military was); arrow fodder.

This is rather mean, but please bear in mind that SoS stands for Servants of Sauron, not Sensitive Organisation of Souls. Cough.

Also, several of the SoS had seen fit to sound Sue Horn Signals. From the sheer amount and variation of these, it was safe to say that there were several species of Sue inbound, and all dangerous. Well, probably safe. With the mishmash of normal signals, combination signals and common tunes, it was kind of hard to isolate and identify some, but meh. You could get the general picture.

Did I mention that all these took place within a minute of each other, if not at the same time? I didn't? Huh. Oh well. I just did, so let's move on.

Koss stopped, barely out of the door of her office. The corners of her mouth were still trying to force themselves upwards, but she managed to keep her mouth in a disapproving line by will alone. She spent half a minute with her head bowed, trying to separate the Horn Signals, and then giving it up as a lost cause, just before realising that they were not the only sounds she could hear. She ran out onto the citadel, seeing as her office did not have windows that encompassed the whole of the Fields of Pelennor. It was either ample space or a good view when it came to selecting her rooms, and ample space had won.

Still, it would have been more convenient right about now.

She was met on the citadel by Thuringwethil, this time the vampire having adopted the guise of pixie-like human, thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black, cropped short and pointing in every direction. If there was any sun, her face would have glittered. (**1**)

Both stopped when they reached the parapet. Snow caked the ground for a full two-kilometre radius around the White City. This looked to be heavy, packed snow, about six-feet deep. There had been no snowstorm last night, or even today.

Weather anomalies were not, however, the biggest concern, and they certainly weren't the reason for the city-wide alarms. A contributing factor, maybe, but a rather small one.

The army that stood to attention atop this snow-covered-ground; now _that_ was a concern.

It comprised entirely of creatures not of Middle-Earth, they could tell that even from the height they were at. Horns and claws featured prominently, with shiny, dark skin and scaly wings that were too small to be anything but vestigial. What was it with Sues, (and, now this unknown species) thinking that humanoid creatures had sufficient abdominal muscles or a big enough wingspan to support flight? Of course, Logic did not dominate MarySues. Lust did.

"The Dark Lord is not going to like this," said Thuringwethil in a low voice, and Koss nodded emphatically (whilst trying not to laugh at the sentiment. Really, what was wrong with her?). It was obvious why the legion of unfamiliar beings stood right at their doorstep. Challenge and conquer. (**2**)

And just as the shape-shifter closed her mouth, Mount Doom, clearly seen even from Minas Tirith, erupted. They could feel the shockwave. Lava spewed first into the air, and then down Amon Amarth's sides, looking both an angry red and searing, even from so far away. Soot rained down on the Plains of Gorgoroth, and Koss absently thanked the Valar that they were no longer situated in Mordor. That vague relief (but not the feeling – no compulsion –to wear a thankful smile) was short-lived however. Because the reason for the eruption was clear.

"_KOSS_!"

Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly's_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera, was _livid_.

OoOoOoOoOo

"WHICH STUPID SOD _DARES_ CHALLENGE ME?"

The General of the Men of the SoS cleared his throat. "Ah…we do not know, O' Dark Lord. The army is comprised of a species not native to our world. Their leader has yet to parley with us."

**Parley. Snicker.**

Shut up.

Sauron turned the Look™ to Koss, who was having more and more difficulty in schooling her expression. "WELL?"

"Possibly a GaryStu, Your Eyeness. A few of the Avari have confirmed seeing MarySues squealing, but not for you. It would explain why the Sue Alert was sent."

"So do we engage them?"

The Witch King sneered at the Goblin General that dared utter that suggestion, as much as a long-past-decay ex-King could sneer. The general gist of it was there, though, especially when he hissed, "We do not know what these things are, and you want to attack them?"

"THURINGWETHIL. ARE YOU ABLE TO IMITATE THE APPEARANCE OF THESE…MYSTERY BEINGS?"

She frowned. "I think so, my Lord. I will need to study them more, though. I only caught a glimpse, and from a ways away."

Sauron waved a gauntleted hand at her. "GO DOWN TO THE GATES. SEND WORD VIA ONE OF YOUR UNDERLINGS AS SOON AS YOU INFILTRATE THE ENEMY'S RANKS." He said this in a voice – the Voice™, in fact – that brooked no failure. Thuringwethil, having served many years under Dark Lords, did not bother to waste her breath on protests, bowed and left.

"Where did they come from? There was no word from the harbour," the Head of the Navy said, looking around the table, which was _not_ round. Sauron very firmly believed that _He_ was in charge, thankyouverymuch. That, and frying those who complained into piles of dust that were later swept away by the Cleaning Goblins™. It was just as well that none of the higher ups of the SoS were asthmatic, plus they were all used to it after being in Mordor for so long.

"My Orcs at the gate informed me that they just appeared, along with that thricedamned _snow_." Grignar and his kind were not fond of snow – not because it was cold and wet and treacherous to fight in – they'd endured worse. But being trained in Mordor made snow as unfamiliar to them as tea parties. In this way – in _both_ ways, actually – the Urûk-hai of Isengard were more experienced, and they didn't let them forget it, either.

"Nazgûl 9 and Bob can confirm this," the Witch King said, tapping his fingers – if you could really call them fingers – on the table. "It was not any magic any of us have seen."

"Further evidence that this is a MarySue of some sort. We all know the havoc the last one wreaked." Everyone at the table shuddered; except Sauron, who was too angry to be distracted. He did not deign to punish Avari Faye for her comment, though, because there were more important matters at hand.

Someone giggled.

Everyone looked around bewilderedly, some even reaching automatically for their weapons. It was a shock, however, to see who had made the horrid sound.

"_Koss_?"

She had her hands clapped over her mouth, her blue eyes wide and revolted. What on Middle-Earth was going on? Was this a reaction to the bite – she held out her right arm towards Avari, who thankfully understood and used a boot knife to cut the bandages. Koss' left hand remained clamped over her mouth, covering what felt like a smile.

The bandage was removed, revealing a curved line made by hundreds of small (compared to the size of Muffin's maw, anyway) teeth, starting from between Koss' first and middle finger, spanning her palm and wrist, and curving back at about one-third of the length of her forearm. Of course, the imprint of Muffin's upper jaw was along the back of Koss' hand, but both wounds were uninfected. Still an angry red, still painful, but not infected.

Then she realised.

"The date," she said, voice muffled.

"LACKEY, WHAT IS THE DATE?"

There was a miniscule pause. "October the twenty-seventh, O' Dark Lord."

"The day I joined you, my Lord."

"THIS HAS NOT HAPPENED BEFORE."

"It may be the presence of – whatever enemy we are facing, Lord."

There was an ominous explosion in the distance. Apparently Mount Doom had erupted again, just as Sauron brought his fist down on the table. It gave a warning creak, although solid oak.

"THERE IS NO TIME FOR THIS. PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, KOSS, OR GET OUT OF MY SIGHT."

"Yes, my Lord."

"THE WARGS ARE TRAINED, YES?"

The Urûk-hai General spoke up. "Five regiments, my Lord. We still have nine more, but they are unpredictable, and are currently being trained by Urkdúsh in Osgiliath. It will take some time to get those nine regiments here."

"FIVE WILL DO."

"Very good, my Lord."

"AND WHAT OF –"

Whatever that 'what of' was of was, er, not known, because Nazgûl No. 1 – otherwise known as the Witch King of Angmar – abruptly screeched. They could hear the other Ringwraiths doing the same thing, in the various parts of the City they were in.

"He wishes to parley, my Lord Sauron."

"_WHO_ WISHES TO PARLEY?"

"The enemy. Evilman 47."

OoOoOoOoOo

"Nanny."

The newest employee of the Dark Side (so to speak) looked up from the book he/she was so absorbed in. It was a deserved break – she/he had apparently been able to get Neena to take a pre-lunch nap. A feat.

"Yes, O' Keeper of Sauron's Sanity?"

Huh. So he/she had recognised her. But that was probably more because of the wound on her hand.

"You will take Neena down to the dungeons, with Muffin, where they may play with the Elf Figwit. I do not care if they manage to kill him. You are to make sure neither of them sets a foot (or paw) out of the First Level. Do you understand?"

"For how long, O' Koss?"

She frowned. Or, at least, her eyebrows furrowed. "For as long as I see fit, Nanny." Koss turned on her heel, off to meet with the Dark Lord and the rest of his escort, when the Royal Nanny spoke up.

"Sanity Keeper? May I ask why you are in Easterling garb?"

Koss didn't bother with a verbal answer. She merely used a finger to hook onto the cloth covering the bottom half of her face, and pulled it down.

The Nanny actually took a step backwards, and Koss would have smirked satisfyingly, but her mouth was permanently fixed in what could only be a besotted smile. It was extremely disturbing, and anyway dressing up as an Easterling could be an advantage, in case the enemy had heard of the Elleth with the 'big heavy weapon thingy'.

"Wake her now," Koss said, voice managing to be dangerous beyond the smile, and then left.

The Nanny shook her/his head. "I'm glad I don't have her job," he/she muttered. But she/he cast it out of his/her mind, and went to carry out the task appointed. Neena wasn't really that bad. She just needed a firm hand, that was all.

OoOoOoOoOo

Sauron's escort consisted of the Witch King, Nazgûl No. 8, Koss, Bob the Balrog and Legolas. Koss was puzzled about the presence of the last, but the eighth Wraith pulled her aside and explained, _sotto voce_, that the Dark Lord had decreed that one of his party must look non-threatening.

They met the enemy and his delegation in the no man's land, which was a hundred by seventy-five metre area just outside the gates of Minas Tirith. Bob the Balrog had been very happy to have actual work to do, even if it was only melting snow. But some unseen force (possibly Evilman 47) prevented the creature of Shadow and Flame from clearing a larger area. This made Bob's wings droop slightly (although he was still an awe-inspiring sight), and Koss saw the Witch King raise a hand as he passed, as if to pat the Balrog's scaly hide in consolation, but the head Úlairi snatched it back, seeming to remember the last time flames had been so close to his robes. Not a good memory.

Koss – or at least, the _normal_ Koss – would have sniggered. As it was, she let out a slightly hysterical giggle, which was thankfully muffled by the cloth covering her face. (Although Legolas did look around worriedly, making sure there were no Sues to ambush him.)

"Lord Sauron!" Evilman 47 greeted the Dark Lord like they were old friends, and the Dark Lord did not like that. It was obvious in the way that the sky darkened ominously. Thunder rumbled.

The enemy was tall. It was impossible to further the description of his appearance, because he was wearing a large and ornate helmet which obscured his whole face. A heavy coat, lined with black fur, covered his body as well as any and all weapons, armour etcetera on his person. They could only see his heavy boots, black too, peeking out from the hem of the cloak.

Koss' lip curled. Or she wanted it to curl. As it was, the effort only ended in her grin growing wider, if that was even possible. She needed to see a Healer as soon as possible.

Even so, she was there for a reason. She leaned forward to speak in the Dark Lord's ear.

"GaryStu, your Eyeness. Most definitely."

The Dark Lord gave a minute nod, and turned to Evilman 47, but the GaryStu's gaze was not fixed on him. (Although how anyone knew where Evilman was actually looking was a mystery.) He was looking straight at Koss.

"Well, hello there," he said seductively, tilting his head in a way that seemed to suggest he was winking.

Koss bit her lip forcibly enough to draw blood. She didn't care. Anything was better than giggling to _that_.

"Who might you be?"

Why wasn't anyone doing anything? Koss looked around; time seemed to have stopped. Sauron was frozen in place, apparently in the act of trying to grab Evilman's head and squish it in one hand. All her other allies were similarly affected. She tried to reach for the club at her waist, but it was like moving through molasses. Her actions were achingly slow, and her eyes flicked again to the GaryStu, who was now in front of her.

"Oh, but I already know who you are. Yes. But why are you hiding such a pretty face?"

And he reached out with a black-gloved hand, and pulled off her face covering, and –

And everything went straight to Udûn.

OoOoOoOoOo

(**1**) I couldn't help myself. However, I do not claim to own Alice Cullen or the rest of the Twilight universe. Don't flame me. I'm not making fun of it. I've actually read all the books and watched the first movie. Leave me alone.

(**2**) Not to be confused with Command and Conquer. Which I don't own either. Nice game, though.

I can be EVIL at times, I know. Still, I wrote all this in one sitting, which just goes to show, with proper motivation you can do most anything (even if it's a little short).

Oh, btw, Happy Birthday, Monkeyboy.

Anyway, please review. And those who want to apply for the position of Royal Nanny (you'll note that I gave no description or gender above) you still have a chance to be chosen. Just fill out the form in the previous chapter and send it to me, either via PM _or_ in a review. Not both.

Yeah, I think that's about it. Other than, REVIEW!

Anila.


	28. 27 Confusion

Disclaimer: I own the hope I have that I will surpass 500 reviews. Also, I own the dismay and frustration of not being able to study even though the exams are in a month and a week. I do not own the satisfaction of writing the Lord of the Rings saga, because I did not write it. I do not own the Lord of the Rings universe.

Warning: Possibly you will not agree with all that I have written in this chapter. Even if you want to stop reading this story in disgust, kindly drop a review before you leave. Please?

As of midnight today, I will have one month and ten days to the first paper of my exams. My studying is not to my satisfaction, but I do not feel the drive to rectify that. I am unsure of why that is. Still, it means that I am more likely to write, so hey, good news for you.

OoOoOoOoOo

Evil Henchman #35 was a little puzzled.

This is a rather momentous occasion, because Evilman 47's henchmen were usually _very _puzzled. Well, it was either that or dead, and the former was much preferable, even if your IQ only barely surpassed that of mayflies and MarySues.

Anyway, he, or rather, it – Evilman 47 did not have much of an imagination when it came to henchmen, so they turned out as generic EVIL, and were rather sexless. This in turn was probably why they had higher IQ than MarySues. Sex was the only thing the rabid fangirls couldn't keep off their minds for long enough for anything useful to take root.

_Anyway_, Evil Henchman #35 was a little puzzled, because as a henchman – and, more importantly, one of Evilman 47's henchmen –, it was expected to look vaguely threatening (it didn't work, most of the time), lift heavy things (when necessary), act stupid (although that wasn't acting so much as…natural talent) and win fights. That was why it was part of an army, after all. And that army had never before lost a battle, not with their Evil Overlord Evilman at their head.

If the henchmen had (collectively) a higher IQ level than Nazgûl Number 7, then they would have been able to justify this by saying, "Dying in battle is less painful than dying by Evilman's hand." Unfortunately…mayflies. No, not collectively. If it was collectively, then ducks would come to mind.

Um, anyway, Evil Henchman #35 was a little puzzled, because it had been transported to this strange new land with the rest of the army, to fight. And yet, they held the city without having to draw their weapons.

It had no idea what had happened during the parley (not that parley was the word it'd used in its mind). It was, after all, near the back of the army, not exactly in a position to take in the proceedings. Not to say that it would have understood the proceedings, though.

Beside it, Evil Henchman #59381 grunted in what seemed like confusion, but was probably just an ordinary grunt.

It has to be said that the army that Evilman 47 led was arranged by number, as ranks were as nonexistent as names – the GaryStu only saw the existence of generals and the like as threats –; Evil Henchman #1 was supposed to be next to Evil Henchman #2, and so on. Alas, due to their lack of brain cells, they couldn't exactly count. No, that's inaccurate. They could count, but it would be along the lines of, _one, eleventy-fifteen, thirty-two, six million ninety hundred thousand and eight, pie_, and so on. That explains why on the other side of Evil Henchman #35 stood Evil Henchman #Key Lime.

"Henchmen!" someone called. Immediately the rank-and-file simultaneously pulled themselves up and tried to hide. For this was the voice of their Evil Overlord, who could kill with barely a thought, and with much pain on the victim's part.

"The city is ours!" Evilman 47 proclaimed, seeming to smirk even though his helmet covered any and all expressions. Not that Evil Henchman #35 was close enough to see much more of its lord and master than the top of said helmet.

Evil Henchman #59380, who, by a stroke of luck, stood beside #59381, said ponderously, "Pretty lady." It was tall enough to see the front, apparently. If any of the other henchmen had the capacity to feel envy, they didn't show it.

Yes, now that #59380 had mentioned it, Evil Henchman #35 could sort of see something shiny draped around their Evil master. But it wasn't really important. Not when they had all just noticed that the place they were in was covered in four more feet of dense snow – bringing the total to ten feet – as far as the eye could see. The henchmen had to pull their feet out of the snow, and shake off the layer that had somehow accumulated atop their heads and horns without them noticing. They were stupid, but not _that_ stupid.

Evil Henchman #35, who was already winning imaginary awards for being smarter than its colleagues, for being more perceptive than usual and for actually caring about that which had been perceived, surprised itself more than its associates (because they weren't what you and I would call bothered) when it opened its mouth and said, "You mean he dragged us from snow to end up in snow _again_? Who does he think he is?"

Let us look on in wonder at the sheer amount of words #35 had managed to string together and still make complete sense. But do not let me stop you from shaking your head in disgust at the absolute idiocy of uttering those words.

For Evil Henchman #35, the world was filled with pain. Then, quite suddenly, there was no longer an Evil Henchmen #35. #Paisley appeared, filling in the gap, stumbling slightly as it landed. It wasn't as its existence would affect the arrangement of the army.

With a wave of Evilman 47's free hand (as the other was wrapped around the waist of the 'pretty lady'), his army vanished, presumably sent to whatever plane of existence that only he could access. They would not be needed at present. He had other things to do. Smirk in place (although not visible) he and his new entourage winked out of sight, and into the palace that now sat atop the Tower of Guard.

The snow eventually covered the grotesquely contorted body of one Evil Henchman. The last thing that could be seen of it was its breastplate, where the numbers 3 and 5 were scrawled on with what was supposed to look like blood, but was in actuality red paint.

And then everything was white, and the wind howled.

OoOoOoOoOo

Christinecarlotta PhantomsAnge L was a little puzzled.

This was a new emotion for her, because previously all that had filled the psyche of her truly pointless subsistence was lust, egocentricity, and, er, lust.

**You said lust twice.**

That's because they think about (**censored censored censoredy censored**) more than they do themselves, even though that is hard to fathom. Kindly do not interrupt my narration. It messes with my flow.

**(Sulkily) …Fine.**

As I was saying, Christinecarlotta PhantomsAnge L was a little puzzled. This was because she was sure that she'd been lusting after Lord Sauron, just as surely as she'd woken up that morning. This was rather odd, because she had not, in fact, woken up. To wake up you must first be asleep. To MarySues in general, sleeping is only good if a) you get a kiss out of it, b) you overhear your 'twue wuv' declaring his feelings for you while you recover from an injury sustained while he was (i) in the way (and you saved him) or (ii) too far to stop it, or c) post hot monkey sex.

Since Christinecarlotta PhantomsAnge L was nowhere near Lord Sauron, hale and healthy and not, shall we say, 'getting any', so she does not sleep. Still, as it was more of a figure of speech (albeit a not-so accurate one), I digress.

The reason for the confusion of one Christinecarlotta PhantomsAnge L was that now her lust target had apparently shifted. Now that she focused her two brain cells (one half more than the average MarySue) n it, she could picture his name and face.

Well, I say face, but I really mean helmet. But what a dashing helmet it was! Oh, its black metal gleamed from within, and its beautiful curves and cruel ridges were seductively so. Somehow Christinecarlotta PhantomsAnge L knew, just _knew_, that when experiencing powerful emotions like anger, or lust (Christinecarlotta PhantomsAnge L's mouth actually parted here, as she started panting slightly), silver hellfire would dance along the length of not only his helmet, but the rest of his body.

It does not take two brain cells (or even one and a half) to figure out exactly which length Christinecarlotta PhantomsAnge L is most interested in.

Cough.

At any rate, Christinecarlotta PhantomsAnge L was no longer confused. After a brief period in which appearance was checked and re-checked, Christinecarlotta PhantomsAnge L's (tiny little) mind found itself refocused. Lust coursed through her body, much like red blood cells, and white blood cells, and platelets and other actually important stuff.

Evilman 47 was newly come to Minas, uh, whatever, and the world that contained omgsquee Leggy. As such, he would be...single. As such he would be...hers.

Christinecarlotta PhantomsAnge L ran as fast as could still be considered dainty. Which is to say, not very fast at all. But the advantage of having two brain cells – although not readily apparent, seeing as none of you would have only two of them...not if you're reading _this_ story, though I rather think I'm flattering myself there – is that you have more than one-and-a-half. So many, if not all, of the MarySues in...the place they were in, would not have come to the same conclusion as Christinecarlotta PhantomsAnge L. Well, not as quickly, because we have to admit that this is precisely what their minds are designed for (though I wonder at the mind of the designer).

As she 'ran' into the suddenly (and _naturally_) there palace, internal tracking and a keen sense of smell (although it is rather puzzling how she would know how Evilman 47 smelled) led her straight to the throne room. The impressive double doors were, of course, closed, and so Christinecarlotta PhantomsAnge L allowed herself a brief victory dance before composing herself and checking her hair and makeup for one last time. Then she pushed open the metal doors, realising and subsequently dismissing the coldness she felt even through the material of her gloves.

Not to say the gloves were thick – certainly not as thick as Christinecarlotta PhantomsAnge L – but I digress.

The MarySue allowed herself a gasp of wonder at the beauty of the throne room – not because the white trees dripping with silver icicles and the mirror-like floor and the glittering snow that dropped down from the heavens but never touched the floor and etcetera were able to take her breath away, but rather because she wanted to show off her glistening pink lips. Her baby blue eyes met those of Evilman 47 (or, at least, the eyeholes of his helmet, where his eyes presumably looked out of) as she sashayed towards him.

"My Lord," she said seductively.

"And who might you be?" he asked, crossing his legs and letting his hands curl over the ends of the armrests of his throne.

Christinecarlotta PhantomsAnge L took this as a good sign, although without any idea as to what the expression on Evilman 47's face was, it was rather hard to be sure. "I am your true love, my Lord." The utter confidence in her stance and voice was enough to make even Evilman chuckle. She mistook this as another good sign.

"If I had the capability to feel sorry for you, my dear, I would," he said.

And Christinecarlotta PhantomsAnge L, although smarter than the average MarySue, remained a MarySue. So she giggled, and stepped closer to the throne, closer to Evilman 47, closer to her future as queen of the world. She did not notice that Evilman's eyes had left her (because, honestly, no one would be able to notice that). She did not notice the light footsteps from behind her (although she was apparently an Elf, with keen hearing). She did, however, notice when she was stabbed in the back.

Evilman laughed as Christinecarlotta PhantomsAnge L fell forward and lay still in a growing pool of her own blood. He got to his feet, and walked down the few steps that led to the dais of his throne. He reached out to touch the person who had stabbed the annoying and presumptuous MarySue.

"Very good, my love," he said, as if talking to a dog.

In some ways, he was.

OoOoOoOoOo

Bob the Balrog was confused.

Not to say he always confused. He not usually bother with things like that. But this time different. This time, suddenly, he not know where he was.

Which was very odd. As Balrog, he know where he was because was, er...in-stink-t. Or something. Little Nazgûl always try explaining big words, but not so many stick in Bob's head.

Talking of little Nazgûl, where he? Where everyone? Even Master not here.

Last thing he remember is melt cold ground. And stupid enemy person. Bob want to smash army and set fire, but he end up here before can do anything.

Where here anyway? Is... Is very cold, he realised.

Usually this not worry him. He flame as well as shadow. But was too, too cold. Bob try to increase flame, higher heat. But...he could not. Feel like...suff-o-kate-ing.

Bob suddenly on nees. Or was it knees? Cannot remember little Nazgûl's ex-pla-nay-shun. Now he already lying on floor. Was cold. Cold.

Bob closed his eyes.

OoOoOoOoOo

The Royal Nanny was confused.

Because we are (currently) unfamiliar with his/her background, it is difficult to determine whether or not it was a common state of mind for the newest employee of the SoS. Suffice it to say that we will be exploring that and other facets of the Nanny's personality as well as heritage quite soon. But I, as usual, digress.

She (or perhaps he) had followed the orders issued to the letter. And, indeed, only seconds ago (barely half a minute), Neena had been happily occupied with Figwit, and the Nanny with his (or maybe her) book. Now...something was very wrong.

"Whas happ'ning?" Neena demanded.

Inwardly, the Nanny cursed. Figwit had disappeared, along with the contents of the cell. In fact, the cell itself had disappeared, which brought to mind that it was they – instead of their surroundings – that had vanished, into this...wherever this was.

It was hard to say. Everything was white, and it was hard to tell where the sky ended and the ground began. It was the type of scenery which if you stared at too long, you would undoubtedly end up cross eyed and with a spinning head. It was not unlike doldrums at sea.

"I'm not sure, Neena." The Nanny held out a hand. She – or he, it must be noted – had learned that gloves were to be worn when dealing with the Sueling. Not by personal experience, no. It had been a rather enlightening afternoon, which had involved a rather unfortunate Corsair, who had tried to take away a butter knife the Sueling had stolen from Sauron's meal tray. (This is quite peculiar, because Sauron does not much care for butter, and prefers any knife on his tray to be extremely sharp. Still, the kitchen staff seemed to like the familiarity, as if to pretend that the recipient of the meal of various gruesome components was in fact a Steward or a King or, well, something Human, at least.) It was not the butter knife that had caused the injuries on the hand of the Corsair – no knife could have torn away the skin upon contact the way it had when Neena had grasped at the soldier's wrist in a childish fit of anger.

Luckily, as the SueSpawn grasped the Nanny's hand, the black gloves were more than adequate protection. They did not, however, diminish the pressure of Neena's fingers when she tightened her grip.

"Where Muffin?"

"Where_'s_ Muffin," the Nanny corrected, having been instructed to correct Neena's haphazard grammar as effectively as possible. It did not appear to be sticking, but orders were orders. "I don't know, Neena."

"Want Muffin!!!"

The Nanny winced at the use of triple exclamation points. Of the few truly Sue traits Neena had inherited, this was the worst. The extra punctuation marks were somehow able to make themselves known by wedging themselves into the poor listener's ears. Exclamation marks had more reverb than question marks, but they were both better than slashes. (If you'll pardon the unintentional fanfic pun. But only because I like slash.)

"Come. We will look for Muffin."

"Yars," Neena said imperiously, tugging on the Nanny's hand to get him/her to follow.

The Royal Nanny did follow, because there was no logical direction to go towards. Nothing differentiated north from south, or west from east. It was difficult to tell which way was up and down, to tell the truth, even if the Nanny accepted that it was a slightly ridiculous notion to have. So s/he let Neena lead him/her, in the hope that they would stumble across something, anything, to break the painful whiteness.

In the back of her/his mind, he/she wondered what had happened in Middle-Earth for this to have happened – and whether or not it had anything to do with the attack on Minas Tirith. If the Nanny and her/his charge were stuck here, without Muffin or anyone else (so far), then what had happened to the rest of the SoS, and the Dark Lord Himself? Hopefully nothing too bad.

Yes. Hopefully nothing too bad.

OoOoOoOoOo

Muffin the Wawg was confused.

Well, that is not accurate. Confusion was only briefly registered, before anger took over. Anger at not sensing its little mistress anywhere. As the mistress had been within touching distance mere...short times ago (Muffin did not have much of a sense of time), it was not right.

The Wawg paused for a second, oddly enough catching the sound of a little animal – perhaps a squirrel or a dog – somewhere to the left. But there was nothing.

Just as suddenly as it'd lost its train of thought, Muffin regained it and surged to its many feet. It immediately whimpered and crouched down again, as it had smashed its head and upper back against something. The Wawg did not bother sniffing at the bars of the cage – for that was what it was, Muffin having recognized it from when some stupid SoS had tried (unsuccessfully) to get it in one (Neena had been most displeased) – because as previously mentioned in another chapter, Muffin had no sense of smell whatsoever. Its many eyes took in that there was no escape, however. There was barely enough space in the cage for Muffin to turn around.

It tried the bars anyway, and whimpered in pain when pain shot through its body almost immediately after its teeth connected with the strange metal. Even though the cross between a Warg and a Spider had let go and backed away (as much as possible in the circumstances), the pain came again, twice, and in quick succession, enough to make all six of the Wawg's legs unstable.

Muffin crumpled to the ground. It whined, one long, continuous noise, and thought of its mistress, and closed its eyes.

OoOoOoOoOo

She was confused.

She was vaguely confused as to why she would be confused, which truly was a confusing train of thought to have. All that confusion was...confusing. So she endeavoured to stop contemplating it at all.

It was surprisingly easy to do so. She would have been confused about this as well, but did not bother to acknowledge it. Some things were more important. For instance, the being standing before her.

Without really thinking about it (which was also unexpectedly easy – the not thinking bit, I mean) she knew that this person was her one true love, her soulmate, her raison d'être – although in her mind that last was butchered to something involving shrivelled grapes, although I am not too sure – and that all was finally, finally right in the world. Why there was anything wrong in her world in the first place was something of a mystery, but seeing as that line of thought would lead her back to the land of Confusion, she let it be.

He offered her his hand, and she took it. Everything was perfect, from the shine of his helmet, to the firmness of his grip (and later on, other, ahem, firmnesses), and from the swelling of love in her heart to the mid-thigh length, strapless dress she had on. It was pink, and had pearls liberally sewn onto the material, as well as silver thread which shimmered as she moved. It perfectly complemented her cerulean orbs as well as her shining russet locks that tumbled down her back, almost touching the floor.

"Say my name." She was not sure if this was an order or a request, but she instinctively knew that _he_ would be happy if she obliged. More than happy. And that was now her lifelong goal, was it not?

"Evilman 47," she breathed, and delighted in the way his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly as he pulled her close, not kissing her, but allowing the general area of his mouth near her pointed ear.

"Very good," he said. "Lana."

Koss giggled.

OoOoOoOoOo

This is not betaed, nor is it as thoroughly spellchecked as it is usually. I'm just not that bothered, as I'm dying to update. I hope you like this one, people, even if it is short. I do hope you haven't given up on me. A review would do well to soothe those fears.

My first chapter of the year. And boy, I think this'll rock a few boats.

Anila.


	29. 28 Sértan, peacemaker

Warning: I…hi guys?

Disclaimer: I own nothing but myself, and the fear I feel in not updating for so long. I don't own LoTR.

Chapter 27 was posted in January. It's now September. I do apologise, my dears. I was having holiday, and then I was getting settled in university. Oh, right, you wouldn't know that, since I haven't been updating.

Yes, I've started university. We're just about to have our sem break. I'm taking dentistry – which is more difficult than you'd think. We're busier than the medical students, though I wouldn't want to be studying medicine.

Still, I do hope you haven't given up on this story – I haven't. I just…got distracted. Forgive me?

OoOoOoOoOo

So then she said to me, she said, "Beethoven? Is he like, a new artist, or something?" to which I replied, "You utterly idiotic b–"

**Hey, wait. They're back.**

They're back? Who're they?

**The readers, you idiot.**

What, seriously? Oh gods, you're right. It's just, it's been so long, I didn't think that this day would come.

**You can say that again.**

I didn't think that this day would come.

**Asshole.**

You asked for it. Anyway, shoo. I have to start the story.

**Don't forget to blow the dust off it. It's been several months.**

Uh-huh.

**And don't forget to bring them up to speed.**

Yeah, yeah. Nag.

**I heard that.**

You were supposed to.

OoOoOoOoOo

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, perhaps we can continue with the story.

If you recall, it has not been very long since the defeat of Ravara – I mean, She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-Else-Risk-Unspeakable-Torture. It has been still less time still since the appointment of the Royal Nanny (whose mysterious identity shall no longer be a mystery by the end of this chapter). And it was only the last chapter in which I revealed that Evilman 47 had deposed Lord Sauron, taken over Minas Tirith and converted Koss.

And before you ask, that last chapter was not a joke chapter, or a prank.

It really did happen.

So, since I've rid this place of its truly copious amounts of dust, let's take a look.

OoOoOoOoOo

Dark Lord Sauron, greatest servant of the Dark Ainur Morgoth (formerly Melkor), 'The Abhorred', King of Men, Lord Of The Rings, Gorthaur, the Deceiver, the Necromancer, the Nameless Enemy, Ruler over all of Middle Earth, Wielder of the One Ring, Bigshot I-Told-You-So Boss of Arda, owner of all things EVIL, Father of Neena Sueling, Yanker of Little Girls' Ponytails and Elves' Braids, Wedgie Scourge, The Great Lidless Eye Wreathed in Flame, All Time EVIL, Puppy-Kicker, The Smite-r of All Who Oppose Him, Maker of the Twenty Rings of Power, Hater of the Númenóreans, Master of Melvins, The Re-re-re-incarnated, Wielder of the Wet Willy, Two-millennia Winner of _Dark Lord Weekly's_ All-Time Hated EVIL Megalomaniac, etcetera, etcetera, was not happy.

Well, that's rather stating the obvious. He'd just lost his throne, after all, and to a poncy git at that – his helmet was bloody ugly, and he wore fur. Fur! Worse than that, there hadn't even been a proper battle – if there had been, then He would have won (and if He hadn't – which was a laughable concept by the by, how dare you entertain it –, then at least He would have gotten to kill things). But worst of all, worst was the fact that He was stuck, in His own prison.

With the heroes.

Still, he wasn't a Dark Lord for nothing.

"What is your name, young one?"

He seethed inwardly. How insulting. He had walked upon this Middle Earth for far longer than this, this, short arse so-and-so. But. He could not reveal that fact – it would be quite dangerous. He did know how to utilise tactics, after all.

"Sértan," He said softly. "My name is, is Sértan."

_Peace maker_. Honestly. He would have rather gone with Muinasicil or Eldamando (**1**) – but He'd been advised against it; apparently it would've been too suspicious, especially with the form He had chosen. Although He – for some reason – could not use His powers to break out and restore order, He was able to, at least, take on this curly-haired form.

And it seemed to be working.

"Why are you here?" asked the Sod.

Oh, Melkor's teeth but He wanted to squeeze the life out of the stupid Man single-handedly. And although His hands were smaller than they usually were in His normal form, He would still be able to do so. He reined in the impulse, though, because there was a more pressing matters to attend to.

Why _was_ He here? Well, not _him_ Him, obviously – that was due to the GaryStu (who would _pay_ once He got out). But Sértan Him needed a reason.

And then it hit Him. _Oh_. That was genius, even if He did say so Himself. Which He was. Saying so Himself, I mean. Yeah. Mmhmm. How long are you going to keep reading this almost never-endingly digressive paragraph? You're still here? Good gosh. I love you. Thanks. Seriously. Thanks for sticking with me.

Moving on, though;

"I…I tried to stop him, in his original world. But he was too powerful for me."

"You mean…" There was an exchange of glances that He noticed but pretended not to. He concentrated instead on not grinning. "You're a hero?"

And although it pained Him to do so, Sértan, also known as Sauron the Deceiver, said, "Yes."

OoOoOoOoOo

They were strategising.

Sauron found this difficult, because He was used to there being a table (as mentioned in a previous chapter), where His generals and advisors would debate and strategise and He would make the final decisions. Those final decisions were followed to the letter. To do otherwise was unthinkable, and even if the thought crossed any of His underlings' minds, they were obviously clever or cunning enough not to voice it aloud or even follow it through – seeing as they had survived under His reign long enough to make it to where they were.

Anyway, the point of that was to draw attention to the fact that Sauron had no real idea how to participate, and no real idea how to deal with the fact that the heroes were presenting their ideas not to him, but to Olórin (Gandalf, he was called in this Age?) and the Sod.

He tried, though. But it was difficult for Him not to slam his fist on the ground (because they were seated on the floor, there being a distinct lack of tables in the dungeons) and demand that they address their comments to Him and Him alone. It was difficult for Him to not call them all idiots and morons and stupidly concerned about the lives of 'innocent bystanders'. It was difficult for Him to suggest and to simper instead of ordering and expecting results.

Unfortunately, this difficulty was noticed.

"What's wrong, Sértan?"

He looked down, so that no anger could flash in His eyes. "I am just not used to…" Being vague had its pluses, but He desired that He could be direct as He used to be. ("I AM SAURON AND THE ONLY THING WRONG IS THAT YOU ARE YET TO BEG ME FOR MERCY!" That was direct, wasn't it? Perhaps less so than "DIE, YOU STUPID MORTALS, DIE!", but still quite direct.)

"Ah." The Man nodded sagely. "You have not been to many councils of war. Although you may not be able to contribute, you should still pay attention."

He bowed His head even further, already planning the torture He would put this Eomer of Rohan through. That thing in the Torture Chambers Koss called a 'cheese grater' would do nicely. _You have not been to many councils of war_. Hah! He was Sauron! He had been in more councils of war than this pathetic Man and his entire lineage. Not that He could say so out loud, but oh they would pay.

However, as He ignored the heroes, His thoughts turned. To Koss. Where had His Sanity Keeper gone? Defected to the enemy? Possible, as what had happened with…She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Dead? Possible, though it would mean that He would have to find someone to replace her. (Or, get someone to find someone to replace her. He didn't deal with such menial tasks.) Deserted the SoS? Unlikely, especially considering her past and why she had come to Him in the first place.

And what of His Nazgûl? It would be very troublesome to have to replace them should they be killed – which was an unknown, with this _Evilman_. In fact, it was probably wiser to just assume that the entirety of the SoS were out of commission. And that fact would have scared or at least worried a lesser Dark Lord – and even if it did Sauron, He would not have admitted it. However, the predominant – and more importantly, the acknowledged – sentiment garnered was one of anticipation. He found that He was somewhat looking forward to proving that He did not need His servants to get Him out of trouble. Even if it meant getting the help of heroes.

No. He was not garnering their help. He was deceiving them. Big difference.

"We cannot afford to wait! We tried it the last time, and all we gained – if you can call it that – from it was being used by a – a –" The Sod's limited vocabulary seemed to fail him here, and he lamely continued, "a witch, and then we ended up _helping_ the side of Evil!"

Sauron snickered. Sértan did not.

"We don't know this enemy yet. I cannot in good conscience let any of you –"

His Soddingness sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Gandalf, you are my friend and wise counsel, but in this matter I cannot take your advice. I cannot sit idly by. This Evilman is less of a threat than Sauron."

At least he had enough brain cells to acknowledge that.

The one Sauron knew as Olórin interjected. "And yet he defeated Sauron where none of us could."

Sauron seethed. Sértan did not.

"But he's exactly like – like the Witch! He can't be that formidable."

"He may not be intelligent but that does not mean we should underestimate him. You yourself know firsthand the damage 'the Witch' wrought."

Ouch. Low blow. Or it would have been, had it been true. The Sod had not known She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named firsthand. Sauron had. Even that Elf had – Legless, or something his name was, which Sauron had always thought odd seeing as he'd not been missing either of his lower limbs. But He digressed.

Sértan, however, had not known Chloe at all. So he asked, "Who is this Witch?"

As one the heroes – excluding Gimli and Gandalf – shuddered. The two Hobbits shifted almost imperceptibly away from each other. Eomer started rocking slightly forward and backward beside him, and Faramir was studiously not meeting anyone's gaze.

If Sauron had been Sauron, He would have gotten to his feet and laughed and pointed mockingly at Aragorn, who had curled into foetal position. "YOU ARE NOT FIT TO BE KING OF MAN, SOD!" He would have shouted – or something equslly as witty. However, He was being Sértan now, and instead turned wide eyes on Gandalf.

"Suffice it to say, child, that the Witch is something like Evilman, only she ensnared minds and bent them to her will."

He let a shudder run up His spine. "I cannot imagine such devilry."

"Pray to the Valar that you do not."

Feh. The Valar – what could They do? Sauron wondered derisively (and somewhat rhetorically). Sértan kept quiet.

"Come, come. We cannot sit idly by, as you say, Aragorn." Gandalf folded his long fingers in his lap. "What, then, do you say we do?"

Seeing as the (pathetic) Man had not yet recovered, Gimli piped up. "I say we have Sértan decide."

This seemed to jolt the rest of the heroes into attentiveness. Even Thorongil. The Dwarf did not look repentant in the slightest for his suggestion, and he did not seem nervous at the attention focused on him due to it. Then again, that would have been against his character. Not that Sauron was interested in his character, though the same could not be said for Sértan.

"Me?" he asked.

"Aye. You're not as involved with all this as we have been. You aren't biased as to who's the greatest evil –"

Wrong there.

"– so your decision will also not be biased."

"That actually makes sense," said Eomer. ("Actually?" muttered Gimli, but this went ignored.) "What about the rest of you?"

When everyone in the room nodded or murmured their assent, Sauron straightened Sértan's spine. "I do not think it wise," he said softly, "to charge in with swords blazing. We need more information on this Evilman. But I think he has underestimated us; why else has he just left us here to rot?"

"What do you suggest, then?"

Instead of Sauron setting him on fire for daring to interrupt, He met the eyes of the Sodding Heir of Isildur squarely. "We should infiltrate their ranks. From what I've seen, they are not bright at all. Counting will be beyond them, and they will not notice that some of our number is missing."

There were more murmurs, and some nodding.

"Who do you propose undertake this spy business? You?"

Sauron sneered (He was undercover _now_, was He not?) and Sértan lowered his eyes demurely. "Nay. I am no ranger. I would think Captain Faramir more than suitable for the task."

He could feel the smile directed at Him, and it made His skin crawl. "Just Faramir, lad."

He bowed his head. "And perhaps one of the Hobbits."

"We could both do it, no problem," said the one called Meriadoc, and his probably-cousin (all Hobbits were more often than not related) nodded enthusiastically.

"I mean no offence, young sirs, but I do not think 47's henchmen so stupid as to not notice both of you missing."

"But they wouldn't notice that one of their number was now no bigger than a child?" Aragorn asked sarcastically.

Sértan's head shot up, eyes impossibly wide and earnest. "That was not my thought at all! I only meant that while Cap - I mean, Faramir..." Sauron was disgusted at how easy it was to make Sértan blush. "While Faramir poses as a henchman and worked from within, either Meriadoc or Peregrin could explore the city and assess the extent of 47's hold on the city."

He knew that Faramir was on His side, even if the Man wasn't nodding in agreement like some sort of overenthusiastic pet (oh, how He missed Shelob). The Dwarf was an unknown, and the Sod seemed not to trust Him - for once, he was right. But if Sauron could get Gandalf the White on Sértan's side, then He would be one step closer to regaining power. To regaining what was rightfully His.

Sértan shed his shyness as he turned his gaze to the Wizard and said, quietly, firmly, "What say you?"

Thorongil made an odd sound at this, an angry sort of interjection that seemed to die before it even left his throat. It went ignored, except by Sauron, who giggled.

Eyes that were doubtlessly termed 'impossibly old and wise' stared into his, as if the old fool could even possibly comprehend that this Elf was an impostor.

Sauron adjusted the set of Sértan's jaw, and waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

"You have a fine head on your shoulders, lad." Gandalf's face creased into wrinkles as he smiled at Sértan. "Your plan is a good one."

Sauron smiled. So did Sértan.

OoOoOoOoOo

This is short, and this is _late_. I do apologise, to the few readers I still have. So much time has passed since my starting to write this chapter that I am now in my second year at university, and fandoms like StarTrek and Top Gear have caught my attention rather more than LOTR.

But I am – for now, at least – back. And I hope you enjoy, and review.

Unbetaed.

Anila.


	30. 29 Maladictus

I do realise that I meant to reveal the identity of the Nanny in the last chapter – however, it'd been so long since I wrote the first A/N of said chapter, I completely missed it in my reread. [_sighs_] Suffice it to say I'll be rectifying that slip in this chapter.

Warning: Slightly more descriptive gore than is usual. Language, probably. MarySues.

Disclaimer: I don't own LoTR or its characters. I own Koss but not her original concept. I own Neena and Muffin and Evilman. The Nanny owns himself.

Oh, yes. Himself.

OoOoOoOoOo

Maladictus sighed.

There was a very good reason for this sigh. No, it was not because of any problems he was facing; not because he'd lost a family member, not because he'd hit a dead end in his Necromancy (yes, you may laugh at the pun), not because he'd run out of food. Quite frankly, the number of times he'd done something without first considering the implications and/or other options – well, those could be counted on a single human hand.

He had one of those in his bag, if you wanted.

Back to the point, the sigh he'd released had been carefully executed. The depth, duration and intonation were calculated beforehand; the right amount of forlornness had gone into the set of his jaw and the angle of his eyebrows. He'd even rested his chin on his palm, for Whosever's sake!

And then a twig snapped.

Smiling now would break the act, so Maladictus kept his expression as it was, even as the fluorescent pink-and-orange monstrosity moved in the corner of his vision. The voice that broke the silence was no less loud.

"Do you, like, need help?"

He gasped, loudly and pointedly, before looking up.

As expected, the woman who'd appeared was lovely. If by 'lovely' one meant 'blond, big bosomed, and indecently dressed', then she was very lovely indeed. She had a strung bow on her back but no quiver, and no arrows. Her tunic – because that was _not_ enough fabric for a dress – was pink, which clashed with her orange skin.

Yeah. Orange skin.

"Who are you, fair lady, to sneak up on me?"

She brought her hand up to cover her mouth as she giggled girlishly. "My name's Thorina Lokisdaughter. My parents are gods and so I'm a goddess with Powers™. I am here on Middle-Earth because I am seeking my one true love. He is currently under the spell of t3h evil Sauron so I must save him so we can kiss and get married and stuff."

Maladictus' initial reaction was to raise his eyebrow, but he restrained himself. He'd gotten this far, after all.

"Who're you?" Thorina asked, simpering.

"You can call me Mal," he said, inwardly wincing at that moniker. Then he artfully cast his gaze downwards and sighed again.

He could immediately feel concern wafting from Thorina like a fog. "What's wrong, Mal?"

"Oh, it's…" Maladictus shook his head, the corners of his lips quirked upwards slightly. (Needless to say, those particular muscles weren't used very often. The smiling muscles, not the head-shaking ones.) "It's nothing, really. You should continue on your way. My problems aren't important."

His wording, as he'd reasoned, was perfect. She tottered closer to him, "No, tell me. I'm sure I can help you in some way."

"Well, only if you want…"

"I do!" The flash of Thorina's teeth almost blinded him as she smiled. "I am a valorous helper of the meek, after all!"

Again reining in his instincts (this time telling him to smite her where she stood), he stared off into the distance wistfully. "You see, I am a good magician." He said this secure in the knowledge that his glamour (of non-threatening blond hair and blue eyes) was in place. "But an evil person stole my powers. To get them back I need a goddess to take part in a ritual with me." Shaking his head mournfully, he added, "But it's impossible. I don't know any goddesses. I'll never get my powers back."

She scrunched up her face in an 'attractive' fashion. "Wait, Mal. Wait! Don't you get it?"

Oh, yes. She'd fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker. "Get what, Thorina?"

"Call me Jenny." She expertly flipped her tresses over one shoulder. "I'm a goddess, silly! I can help you!"

Maladictus let his mouth fall open. "You are so brilliant, Thorina – I mean, Jenny."

Another vapid giggle. "I know! So, I have to, like, do this ritual thing with you and you'll get your powers back?"

"Yes." Before she could follow up with another question, he pointed to the centre of the clearing they were in. "All you have to do is stand there."

Without pausing to question his motives, she followed his instructions, flouncing in ridiculous high heels. She twirled prettily and smiled at him while batting her long eyelashes. "You know, you're kinda cute."

His smile was somewhat pained. He then put out his hand, palm facing her.

She smiled and frowned at the same time, resulting in an odd rictus of an expression. "What are you –"

She never got to complete the question. Maladictus had closed his fingers into a fist, and now all that was left of her was a coating of blood and guts across the forest floor. That, and the undamaged liver in his hands.

It'd been a long time since he'd had liver for dinner. Too long.

OoOoOoOoOo

It was unfortunate for Maladictus that he arrived in Minas Tirith the day after the last of the new recruits had been accepted into the SoS. He'd been delayed by a vehicular problem. His horse had died – of natural causes, actually – and he'd had to hitch a ride on the back of a cart belonging to a nearby brewery.

The endless swaying throughout the journey had not helped his mood any. Still, it wasn't the fault of the cart driver that he was late, so he paid the man as promised, and went to find himself an inn for the night. He was reasonably certain that there would be a place in Sauron's ranks for someone with his services – and if not, he'd just continue on with his travels.

He walked along the streets with the hood of his navy cloak pulled up. Maladictus didn't find it a particularly chilly morning (although it had to be said that it was quite cool for this time of year), nor was he hiding from anyone. It was more that people were quite keen on staring at him if he chose to forego the hood.

Admittedly, parchment-white skin lined with black veins wasn't the usual complexion someone would expect. Lightning sorcerers (that were currently dabbling in Necromancy) weren't very common, after all.

What Maladictus didn't know was that the citizens of Minas Tirith were pretty blasé on the whole with 'odd-looking' creatures walking in their midst. Theirs was a city that was constantly awash with MarySues, after all.

At any rate, Maladictus soon found an inn that was to his liking. Locate on the sixth level, it was called The Spider's Venom and was a relatively new tavern in the White City, established after Sauron's victory. Possibly it'd been named in honour of (the late) Shelob.

Nursing a disappointingly bloodless Bloody MarySue, Maladictus sat at the bar and listened in on the happenings of the City.

It felt like years since he'd entered any sort of large city. It probably had been years. To be fair, Maladictus hadn't had much of an inclination to do so, seeing as he was perfectly happy wandering in the wild. During his many years of travel in Middle-Earth, he had developed a more than adequate set of survival skills.

Now, standing amongst Humans and Elves and the odd Dwarf or Hobbit – it was almost surreal. Suffocating. He'd be worried about socialising if such a thing was even important to him. (It wasn't, just so you know. Books and corpses weren't much in the way of conversation, so he'd never felt any kind of lack before.) Instead he watched people interact with each other and tried to pick out new language nuances and slangs that he'd missed from living away from the city. It would make it easier for him to deal with the inhabitants of Minas Tirith.

Overhearing that there was a smith on this level, not far from the inn, Maladictus recalled that he'd wanted to get his armour looked at – there was only so much magic could help with. Apparently the owner was involved in some sort of scandal – information which could come in handy when bargaining for a price.

Not that Maladictus was stingy. He just had strong beliefs on how much he was willing to pay for things.

As he continued listening, it seemed that most of the talk was centred on the SoS recruitments – most of the patrons of the Spider's Venom being either new members or veterans of the SoS. (Let it not be said that Evil didn't like to kick back once in awhile.) But back to the subject at hand, apparently there had been more than a few MarySues at the trials, trying to be 'recruited' to 'sneak into the ranks' and rescue their hero(es) of choice.

Needless to say, they had been slaughtered with ruthless efficiency.

Maladictus shook his head. He truly did not understand the point of those creatures. He knew that they tended to transcend Logic and had a special evil of their own (not to be confused with Evil, which was an altogether respectable line of occupation). He had come across more than a few in his travels (Thorina had not been the first). The more disturbing experiences had been ones in which they'd tried to ensnare him – there was one particular scenario involving what were apparently Earth sailor outfits that made him shudder – but Maladictus had long abandoned any appreciation for aesthetics, whether or not it concerned the living.

Their livers, whenever he managed to attain them, were savoured all the more because of the satisfaction in killing them.

He also couldn't help but note the one name that was mentioned almost as often as the Dark Lord's; someone called Koss. An odd name, to be sure. It appeared that she was some sort of overling (as opposed to underling), on par with the Ringwraiths and in charge of dispatching MarySues. Maladictus listened to one Easterlings' recount of how she'd dealt with a Warrior!Sue with the creative application of a spoon and some string. He was, in spite of himself, impressed. Perhaps, if the Dark Lord had no use of his services, he could offer them to this Koss.

If not, then… he would see to his armour first. Perhaps purchase new clothes, if there was any quality cloth to be had in the City. He would have to look for a new horse – assuming that there were any to his tastes (and not literally, don't be stupid, he didn't eat horse if he could help it) that wouldn't shy away from him. Horses tended to dislike those of his profession.

Where, then, would he go? There was always Far Harad. He had not been to those lands yet – perhaps he could snag a guide while in Minas Tirith. He had seen one or two about. In which case, it would be better to abandon the idea of purchasing a horse – he'd just go to the harbour and see if there was a ship bound for a suitably close destination. Perhaps there would be another sorcerer in those foreign lands, someone to share ideas with. It would be refreshing, to be sure. Despite not needing or wanting company, Maladictus believed that it would be mutually beneficial. Or potentially so.

He was brought back to the present by a sudden spike in sound - apparently the person who had just entered the inn was known by many, and they greeted him enthusiastically. The Avari obligingly nodded and clasped forearms with a few of them, before making his way to the bar. He was dressed from head-to-toe in drab brown clothes, which went well with his nondescript face and hair. A smart choice - it was better to blend into the background. Maladictus would have to remember his face and mannerisms, for use in a future glamour. It never hurt to be prepared.

The Avari motioned for a drink.

"What're you doin' here, Maethorthent?"

Maladictus snorted quietly to himself. The name was certainly apt. (**1**)

The barman continued, "Thought you had duties on Saturdays."

The Avari arched an eyebrow. "I am on duty."

"The Dark Lord payin' you to drink on His time?" The barman laughed, pushing a half-pint of beer across the bar, some of it slopping onto the wood.

"I have to deliver these," came the reply, and Maethorthent unearthed a stack of flyers from the bag he'd slung over his shoulder. "Here, you can take some of them, give them to whoever's interested."

The Man took the topmost one, lips moving as he read its contents. His eyes widened. "You can't be serious."

"It is what it is."

"But…who would even answer these? That, that _thing_ is a monster!"

Maladictus' curiosity was piqued at this point. But he held his tongue for the time being.

Maethorthent took a careful sip of his beer. "That could be considered treason, Ceddry." He laughed nastily at the way the Man's face blanched. "Not that I would report it. But it's best you hold your tongue about His daughter."

"I'll keep it in mind." He replaced the piece of parchment. "Still think you'd have to be insane to apply, though. Or suicidal. Or both."

"May I?" Maladictus didn't wait for an answer, instead reaching for a flyer. It was simple enough, and to the point. Underneath the print of the Dark Lord Sauron (the detail was surprisingly good) were the words:

**EYE want YOU**

**To take up the post of ROYAL NANNY**

**Taking care of Neena Sueling**

**(She's really cute, just a bit of a handful)**

**Applications to be sent to Frodo Baggins**

**(i.e. Nazgûl no. 9 ¾)**

A job application. How fortuitous. If Maladictus had been the type to thank gods, he would have done so right then. As it was, he didn't even give the Valar a passing thought, and instead folded the flyer neatly so he could tuck it into his vambrace (**2**) for temporary safekeeping.

When he looked up, Ceddry the barman was staring at him. (Maethorthent was trying to foist some flyers onto the woman that'd just arrived.)

"I assume Neena Sueling is Lord Sauron's daughter."

Ceddry's eyes seemed to bulge even more, if that was possible. "You don't know that? Where've you been livin', under a rock?"

"Here and there."

"Anyway, aye, she's His daughter. Knee high to a grasshopper, but more dangerous'n a pack of Wargs." He shot Maladictus an appraising look with his one good eye. "You're pretty brave to be considering it at all."

"Or suicidal, or insane."

Ceddry didn't bother with looking abashed. "If you knew what she got up to, you'd understand. And you'd ride out of the White City as soon as possible."

"A little difficult, seeing as I am currently without a horse."

Rolled eyes. Sorry, _eye_. "No need to get smart-mouthed, sirrah. Man with that cut o' cloth should be able to buy one of Troasien's steeds. Imports her horses from Rohan, she does."

"I'm sure." Maladictus tapped his glass to signal a refill. "Have you actually seen her?" He considered the mental capacity of his interlocutor, and then considered his word choice. "Have you seen Neena Sueling, I mean."

"Aye. I've seen her. Back when I had two eyes."

Maethorthent butted into the conversation by snorting loudly. "Yes, but you lost your right one because you left your spoon in your mug. Quit trying to spook him."

"It could'a just as likely been her fault. Or that Warg of hers."

"I've told you," the Avari said with the air of someone tired of being patient, "it's not a Warg, it's a _Wawg_."

Maladictus raised an eyebrow. "And a Wawg is?"

Their response almost made the sorcerer sigh. It was just a question.

"Where're you from, stranger?"

Maladictus carefully and casually placed the palm of one hand flat against the top of the bar. Just in case of any negative reaction to his answer. "Angband."

There was (relative) silence for awhile, before Maethorthent smiled. "A Wawg is what you get when you combine a Warg and a Spider." He placed a few Eyes (**3**) beside his empty tankard. "I have more flyers to deliver. I hope to see you on the morrow, stranger." He gave a short bow to Maladictus (who nodded), and raised a hand in farewell to Ceddry.

"How exactly," asked Maladictus slowly, "does one combine a Warg and a Spider?" His mind helpfully tried to supply an image of the process, but failed.

Ceddry smirked. "Rethinking your decision?"

"Hardly." Maladictus drained the rest of his drink. "I like a challenge." This would've been an appropriate time to smile roguishly, but Maladictus did not. Instead, he asked, "Do you have a free room?"

OoOoOoOoOo

Meeting the 9 ¾th Ringwraith was interesting, to say the least. It did gall Maladictus that he be called up to the highest level of the White City, just to be asked a few questions. He did understand that it was probably to manage all the applicants (there'd been quite a few, despite Ceddry the barman's disparaging attitude), but that didn't mean that he felt like his time was being wasted.

He had been at the seamstress's shop that afternoon when the messenger stopped by. (The woman was obsessed with coin, so she was perfectly happy to deal with Maladictus, despite his outward appearance and general aura of death. And by death it is to be inferred that he was dangerous, and not that he stunk of rotting flesh.)

Ceddry grunted at him. "This came for you, sirrah."

Maladictus picked up the folded parchment Ceddry had shoved across the bar. He picked off the black wax seal, eyebrows rising as he read what'd been written inside. So. He'd been shortlisted.

He took back what he'd thought about his potential employers. This response was actually faster than he'd ever imagined.

"Well?" Ceddry demanded nosily.

Maladictus looked up. He'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone. "I'll be staying another night."

OoOoOoOoOo

More questioned. He'd been called for more questions.

Maladictus would have been more annoyed if it hadn't been clear that the shortlisting had reduced the applicant count to three. _Three_.

He had been shown to this nondescript room by an eyebrow-waggling Maethorthent. Maladictus had fervently ignored this 'pleasantry'. The Avari had left him alone for what seemed like half an hour, and Maladictus was starting to get a little antsy.

It was a good thing that that was when the window exploded.

Within seconds, Maladictus was in half-crouched position, a half-formed pattern of magic held in his head. When the glass and the dust settled, he almost groaned.

"You are an evil wizard," she announced, arms akimbo as she shook her long, cerulean tresses so they cascaded down her back.

"And you are a MarySue," he retorted flatly, straightening. Really, couldn't he have been given more of a challenge?

"I am not MarySue!" She sounded insulted, a fact which Maladictus really didn't care about. "My name is Isabella Kimberlee del'Ortollio Sapphire Quiana Running Deer. I come from a tragic background, for my stepmother –"

"You know," Maladictus interrupted, "I really don't give a **censored**."

Isabella looked like she was going to collapse in shock. "You dare insult me, evildoer?"

He pursed his lips and decided not to endanger his IQ level further by responding. He instead threw a bolt of lightning at her.

She _blocked _it. That was – that was impossible. She'd moved fast, too fast, faster than any human or Elf had any right to be. As soon as he thought this, Maladictus wanted to roll his eyes. Of course she was faster than human/Elvish-ly possible. She was a **censored**-ing MarySue.

No matter. He could deal with a shield-toting MarySue, rare though those were.

Thing was, though, being a lightning sorcerer, his attacks were primarily force casting. Ranged attacks, basically, which meant that it was easy for Isabella Kimberlee blah blah to block and then dance out of the way while saying something inanely 'witty'.

They made him want to pull out his teeth.

He couldn't even resort to Necromancy. He needed to prepare sigils and painted pebbles and animal blood and –

Maladictus threw himself down on the ground, gritting his teeth. It was a pity he hadn't progressed far enough in his studies to just kill her where she stood.

"Wow you are a terrible wizard man – it's so surprising you are not dead yet! Ha-ha!" She twirled her broadsword single handed, managing to not severely injure her wrist in any way. "Now I will smite you and claim my rightful claim to the throne of Middle-Earth."

Alright. This had gone on for too long.

He set off several streams of fire in quick succession, enough to make Isabel (Isabella?) stagger back a step. While she was distracted, Maladictus leapt on her, his long, curved boot knife in hand.

At least her blood was normal, he thought – red and thick and warm as it spurted from the stab wounds he was making in her neck. His knee was hurting where he was resting it against her jewel-encrusted shield, but he didn't care. All his attention was on the dying light in her eyes, on the noises she made as she choked on her own blood, on severing her head clean off her shoulders.

He even hacked off her hair when it got too matted and started sticking everywhere.

The door opened. The Ringwraith Frodo entered, flanked by two Goblins. With his hood back, it was easy to see the smile on the ex-Hobbit's face.

Maladictus got to his feet slowly, Isabella's head in one hand and his knife in the other. Both were dripping.

"Very good," said Frodo. "Nanny."

OoOoOoOoOo

(**1**) Maethorthent is a Sindarin name that means 'short warrior'.

(**2**) Vambraces are (one of) the forearm guards of medieval armour. Maladictus wears vambraces but not gauntlets. He wears heavy leather gloves instead.

(**3**) If you've forgotten, Eyes are the currency of Mordor. Minas Tirith has adopted it since His reign.

This is unbetaed. And late. Have I mentioned how late my chapters are? Well, I don't have to, seeing as you guys can figure it out all by your lonesome.

So, yes. Thank you again to all of you who applied to be Royal Nanny, but as you can see, Maladictus here is the one chosen. Skykhanhunter on ffnet, if you were wondering.

As you probably read in the previous chapter, I'm in uni. Currently in third year, so that's an indicator of how long it's been between chapters. My bad. Hoping for more Evilman next chapter. I have plans – plans, I tell you!

As always, reviews are appreciated. Wanted. NEEDED. Thank you for sticking with this, if you have, and thank you for reading it all the same.

P.S. I'm currently doing an epic rewrite of the entire fic, so that everything fits better with my current writing style. I'm hoping to also get rid of any plotholes. Fingers cross.

-Anila


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